


To Want

by OntheMeander



Series: To Want, Enough [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alchemy, Alcohol, Angst, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Care of Magical Creatures, Death Eaters, Declarations Of Love, Depressed Harry, Depression, Desire, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Feels, Fights, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Grim Reapers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Professors, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mirror of Erised, Mystery, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Pining, Post-Canon, Romance, Room of Requirement, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Teen Angst, Temporary Character Death, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24358993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OntheMeander/pseuds/OntheMeander
Summary: After the battle of Hogwarts, everyone wanted to go back to life as normal. One night though, Harry realizes that some are more desperate than others want to go back. To want is human and to want is what the Mirror of Erised specializes in. Which leaves Harry questioning constantly, what is Draco seeing while staring into the mirror?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: To Want, Enough [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758733
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	1. Hall of Glass

Currently, he was standing in a Hall of Glass.

Surely it was only magic that could make such a large and full of life castle so silent. Doors didn’t squeak, windows didn’t rattle and general eerie noises attributed to ghosts that normal spooked an old building like Hogwarts was seemingly absent. The light was eerily bright and white as it streamed through large gothic windows, dust dancing in it looking also like glittering sparks from a wand. It would be beautiful if Harry had enough energy to appreciate it.

Instead, this natural beauty was wasted on his wandered the empty halls hoping it would inspire his own mind to the same blessed emptiness. The piercing headache was a cold spike just below the surface, akin to an icicle falling from the highest tower straight into his skull. That blindingly powerful pain that magic, medicine, and alcohol had failed to maintain, now he was hoping the midnight wandering would do the trick.

He didn’t know what time it was, all he knew was the moon was high in the sky by the time he was ripped from sleep by nightmares again. Now it was starting to sink again as the next day morning was quickly catching up with him. He walked in a slow stuttering pace, freezing and silently staring at anything little thing that caught his attention.

Harry was desperate to take in every detail, how the smoke curled from bewitched flames, the ornate designs of medieval objects every crack in the stone gothic window frames, in the hopes to paper over every burnt in detail of his nightmares. Maybe with enough inspection of a portrait, he could erase the way a body concaved under the falling building. Maybe the fresh air could almost cover up the memory of the rancid stench of decomposition and feel the thick level of grit that clung to his skin still. The sweat that was soaked into his hairline was finally cooling and drying in the nighttime air.

That was how he found himself in the Hall of Glass, a thin corridor of high vaulted ceilings lined with opulent stained-glass windows. 

Harry was leaned up against the opposite wall, tucked into and barely visible alcove simply watching the windows. He was memorized by watching the dozens of windows, each with a mythical creature silently acted out the best moments of their idealized image. They were lifelike, similar to the portraits, but they were silent and didn’t gossip or call attention to harry as the chattier pictures could. They gave him the space to think and watch.

Mermaids primped in a clear lagoon, Fae planted flower beds in spring showers, Phoenixes flew in the sun, Thunderbirds danced along with lightening and any number of creature Harry couldn’t name eat, danced, sang and celebrated their little glass life. They were lifelike, similar to the portraits, but they were silent and didn’t gossip or call attention to Harry as the chattier pictures could. They gave him the space to think and watch. He just stood there breathing in and out, his eyes even starting to droop in the moment of comfort

Suddenly, scaring the heart straight into Harry’s throat, a person swiftly passed in front of him. Peeking around the corner he could see a set of dark robes skimming along the ground. There was a flash of chalky white hair, white enough to make the moon look dull by comparison A head of hair that Harry practically had a Pavlovian response to reach for his wand over. Draco Malfoy was wandering the halls late at night. Why would he be doing that?

Waiting for just a moment Harry stuck his head out to look down the hallway. Malfoy was making a quick pace; he was heading somewhere with conviction and confidence. Harry left the alcove and started to follow.

The heating charm placed upon the stone floor guaranteed that Harry could comfortably walk the dark castle in nothing but socked feet. Making his sudden surveillance vastly easier, Malfoys own hard souled slippers aiding announcing somewhat where he was heading.

Malfoy, seemingly determined in his mission, missed how the suits of armor turned the helmet heads to watched them. The moonlight against the row of suits of armor flashed like hundreds of photographer flashes that descended on 12 Grimmauld Place over the summer. It was a summer that felt like it never happened, Harry felt split at the seams, torn between attending trials, giving interviews and his own desperate attempts to heal.

As Malfoy turned a corner, Harry could just make out the discoloration around Malfoy’s eyes, sunken like in the bloody moors of the lake. The dark tones were made ever harsher by his sallow skin. A sickly look he had for several years now and something that didn’t evade Harry’s notice when he first saw him on the platform, hugging his mother before boarding the back most train car. Disappearing into the back of the train.

Malfoy had disappeared into the background, a place that, since the first year, the boy fought against constantly. If there was a situation Malfoy could insert himself into, and even more so when it didn’t, than he was more than happy to do so. Like a glowing beacon of sheer annoyance, Malfoy always seemed right at Harry’s side to make sure his opinions were known.

This year though, everything was different. In the few classes, they had Harry couldn’t even remember a time that Malfoy had ever talked. Those who sat next to him didn’t want to and the teachers weren’t interested to call on him either, though he never seems to raise his hand anymore. He had seen the slip starting at the trials, testifying from the stand and just seeing the man stair lifelessly down at his lap. He only moved when directly spoken too and even then, used the least, most docile, words as possible. There was just something quintessentially Malfoy that was lost in the last years.

Though none of his classmates were acting as they did even a year ago. What little childhood one clung to in the last years of Hogwarts had all but crumbled under the rumble of the old building. It wasn’t just the new eight years too, you could see the sudden adulthood in the new 7th, 6th and 5th years, those who came back at least. To find an empty alcohol bottle or two, drank not in the throws of a party but in a secret late-night binge, under the common room beds was not an uncommon occurrence.

Harry had lost track of how many passageways they had turned down. Every hall was empty, not a single perfect, teacher or ghost crossed their paths. Malfoy didn’t seem to hesitate at all, not a care for being caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, Malfoy started scaling the stairs. The stairs were currently latched onto an east-facing upper corridor. Harry waited till he was over halfway up the stairs before coming out from the shadows to follow.

Just as Malfoy stepped through the doorway, the entire staircase gave a rumble, a warning as it was about to move. Making as quick and silent work as possible Harry climbs the stairs to the 7th floor. The grinding of stones started to bound off the cavernously tall walls as the stars start to slowly turn. Blessedly Harry makes it to the landing just before they decide to change, swinging widely to the right towards the west wing. He just caught sight of the edges of Malfoy’s robes as he turned the corner at the end of the long hall. Picking up his pace, Harry followed, wishing he had his map to make things easier.

Turning the corner, Harry sees six large radiating corridors… and Malfoy was gone. The hallway was empty, no sign of movement in sight, even the dust was moving in its casual wafting way as if it was never disturbed at all. Statues, suits of armors, and massive birdcages were at the end of each hallway obscuring anything pas them. Yet in all that dark hallway, of stones and ironwork there wasn’t the irritatingly bright shock of white hair to be seen. Gravely, Harry couldn’t hold back the growing he gave in frustration. Scanning for any signs of life, the frustration grows as there was nothing there to find.

He saw movement in the corner of his eye, it was his own reflection bouncing off the glass of the trophy cabinets. His hair was a mess, he looked like Teddy after an exciting day at the zoo that ended in an obsession with the petting zoo and peanut butter in his ear. The glare of his own reflection made him feel like a kid again and not in a fun way. It was in that way that reminded him of stale air and cupboard spiders. He looked as ridiculous as he was acting, chasing Malfoy in the halls like a first year.

Pacing for a moment, torn which way to go. His curiosity was screaming for him to keep tracking, find out what was happening. _Obsessive, Boisterous, Fearless, Blindly Courageous, Reckless, Gryffindor:_ those were The Prophets a few favorite adjectives for Harry, every colorful combination being slapped together in an endless stream of headlines. What the countless articles failed to ever mention though or even worse just write off was that those qualities were what kept him alive.

The relentless following and searching felt like his way of gaining knowledge and to know was to keep yourself alive ultimately. It was his best skill for gaining knowledge, just like Hermione in a library. Even thinking that though, he could imagine the deep-set frown of Hermione’s disapproval. As she would ultimately remind him, the war was over and the habits, though once effective, were quickly becoming destructive.

Harry, ultimately turns around and heads back towards the stairs, ignoring the voice in his head urging him to keep following Malfoy. The trek back to the Gryffindor tower is a well memorized one, he could probably do it blindly now. The Castle put back so completely to the way it once was that some days harry questioned if anything the year prior had happened. The only traces of the last battle were the scars, physical, mental, and emotional.

The Fat Lady looked lovely as always, lounging back in her chaise, playing a card game with some young milkmaid of an unknown painting. The pair didn’t seem surprised to see Harry out in the middle of the night.

“Up late Child?” The Fat lady gave a soft smile, about as soft as the melty caramels they were snacking on.

Harry simply nodded, “Couldn’t sleep.” She raised a glass to him, a small cheer in support, her friend doing the same. Many portraits didn’t seem to sleep much anymore. Those who survived the wreckage were hyper-focused and seemed to deem themselves the front-line security for the entire castle.

“Password?” She asked, lips reddened from her wine goblet.

“Lapis Lazuli.” The portrait unlocked and slowly swung open, a warm gust of heat from the common room being released out into the halls. Harry could hear the last crackles of the dying fires in the common room as he crawled through the portrait hole. The room was empty, the homework wasn’t intense enough yet to demand the all-nighters of the students.

He was quiet to open his dorm door, Ron’s snoring, ensuring that the click of the lock wouldn’t bother any of his roommates. The room was almost sweltering warm, with all the tapestries, small central fire, and bodies, compared to the large corridors of the rest of the castle. Less than a month and the room was already a disaster zone of hazard hung quidditch posters, dirty clothes, and empty junk food containers. Most of it overflowing of Seamus’ corner as he seemed unable to throw anything away.

Crawling into bed, He felt his tense muscle loosen ever so slightly since they were no longer needed to hold him up anymore. He didn’t bother removing his glasses, he wasn’t going to be sleeping anyway. His head was still pounding, by the rare chance, it wasn’t emanating from his scar. No, it was radiating from the back of his head. Like a Stinging Jinx was targeting the juncture of his spine, feeling like a rusty screw being twisted into his body.

The sun would be coming up soon and Harry knew that he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight. It would just be best to conserve what little energy he was able to scrounge together. He just laid there on his back, counting the enchanted stars painted across the top of the bed canopy, listening to the excitable birds chirping from the world outside the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Lovelies,  
> Welcome to a new story adventure. I hope you have enjoyed the first chapter of my next big writing project. If you liked what you read I hope would stick around and please leave comments, I always like to hear what you all think about the story and any constructive criticism you could have.


	2. Whispers in the Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Harry is tired but unable to settle the discomfort of last night. What could Malfoy possibly up too? Is it his imagination or maybe his Paranoia. This year was supposed to be a do-over and here Harry is falling into old habits.

He is trudging through mud. Harry literally feels as if he is completely submerged in a muddy trench and is foggy mindedly trying to walk through his day. He would be worried he was asleep on his feet if he had thought he had ever managed to sleep at all the night previously. Rubbing at his aching eyes, knocking his eyes askew, Harry enters the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was heaving with early morning life, like a revving engine that is shifting into 3rd gear. Fresh-faced first years talked excitably, about every new magical detail they just discovered in the last 24 hours, washing out the more mellow slower tones of 7th and 8th years who were more interested in talking to their coffees than relaying the tediousness of their latest 15-foot-long essay due in herbology.

Harry took a seat at the Gryffindor table, his hip giving a disturbingly loud crack as he swung his legs around the bench. Neville, beside him, gave an understanding smile as he chewed on some eggs. Across the table, Hermione was cradling a cup of hot tea, peering at a copy of the prophet, seemingly trying to ignore Ron who was content to play with the frizzy curls of her hair. The pair seemed attached at the hip… no closer, attached at the lungs since they seemed to breathe the exact same breath every second since the battle of Hogwarts. Harry was mildly surprised when he didn’t see rings on their fingers when he finally found them on the Platform.

Looking down the table he could see the morning feast that he remembered being so in awe of in the first year. Unfortunately, the awe was gone and with it his appetite it seemed. Instead, he just shifted his gaze between the chatting students at the four long tables of the hall.

At the front of the hall, settled into their seat along with the head table, were the professors. Hagrid sat at the far end, making quick work of a massive stack of sausage, chatting boisterously with a cheery Professor Sprout and an elderly looking wizard by the name of Professor Mot. He had severe cheekbones with little to no fat on them, his body seeming to reject age, and the sagging wrinkles that usually accompanied it. Whether sitting or standing he always seemed to be leaning at a 45 Degree angle, usually placing his full weight onto a polished carved cane.

His eyes were milky white, like thick blinding film-coated his bronze irises. Whispers had instantly started to swim across the great hall the first night when he was introduced to the students as their new Transfiguration professor. “I heard he lost his sight when he botched a Lumos spell.” “I heard it was taken from him by a rogue aura.” “I think I read somewhere that you could lose it in a trade with a Gorgon in exchange to not be turned to stone.” “Pavarti told me it was from a run-in with a witch doctor in America.” Were just the start of the whispered statements Harry had overheard in the last few hours.

McGonagall, now sitting in the central Headmaster seat, was having a serious conversation with Renee Auguste, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. She is an elderly witch that was clutched fabulously to her youth, with short coiffed hair, and her square face is half covered by the enormous broad framed spectacles. Each day they were a different color, and always paired with a waterfall of beaded necklaces, earrings, and bracelets that jangled like bells as she moved. 

They were both some of the several new hires needed for the year, with the death toll what it was last year several positions at the school needed to be filled. They still didn’t have any idea who their new Potions professor was outside of the vaguely bland name, Edward Edwin Davies, printed on their class lists. Even Hermione wasn’t able to dig up any information on the man much to her frustration.

Silently, Harry grabbed the pot of coffee and poured it to the brim of his cup. In the inky reflection, he could see a bastardized version of the early morning light off the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling, the soft blues turned stormy and clouds a heavy muddy color. The steam off the magically heated coffee fogged up his glasses and wafted with the soft scented notes of hazelnut.

“You alright there, Mate?” Ron asked, finally releasing several strands of Hermione’s hair he seemed fascinated with to eat his own meal.

“Just tired, couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione gave him a perturbed look, snapping her heavy textbook shut. She was worried, she was always worried. It was something Harry both adored and loathed, she cared so much that sometimes she couldn’t not fret.

“It’s okay, Hermione. Just a rough night.” He sipped his drink, enjoying the burn down his throat, just staring at the other students not really interested in anything.

“You’ve had a lot of those Harry. It isn’t healthy.”

“I know but there isn’t much I can do.” They had this conversation before, multiple times and outside of refueling a dangerous addiction to sleepless draught, he didn’t have any real options.

“My Gran has a tranquility portion if you would like to try it.” Neville offered, leaning away from the conversation he was previously in with Seamus. “It’s an herbal family recipe. I could have her send you some potions.”

“Maybe Neville, let me think about it. Thank you…” A glint of bright white caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Whipping his head around, Harry realized it was Malfoy entering the Great Hall. He looked as if he was wearing the same robes he had on last night, a prominent layer of dust clinging to it. Even in robes that surely would be dreamed ‘a disgrace to the Malfoy name’, Malfoy strode through the Hall, head held high as if he owned the place.

He had a dark circle under his eyes and a dull look to his skin that was a hallmark for a sleepless night. Where ever he had gone last night he must not have left early enough to change before coming here. What could he possibly be doing that it kept him out all night? The question was on the tip of his tongue, he wanted to ask it so badly but then again Ron and Hermione might just think he is obsessing again. Then they would just fret about him and not listen to him even if his concerns were valid.

No one else seemed to pay him any attention as he sat down at the mostly empty Slytherin table. There was at least a 10 ft gap between him and all other of his housemates. A space that wasn’t hard to maintain simply because of the sheer lacking of students at the table. All of the Hogwarts houses were smaller than they had been in generations, it was inevitable between the death toll and terrified parents who felt the school was no longer safe after Dumbledore’s death. The space of missing students at each table had a visual weight, but none was stronger than the sheer void that was the Slytherin table. Simply no one was left in Slytherin.

When this new year started, most decided not to come back. Some out of fear, a minority because they were in prison or on the run, but most simply couldn’t call Hogwarts home anymore. The illusion of them ever being welcomed was shattered as they were forcefully locked down in the dungeons during the battle. Many, once it was over, saw a school that didn’t hold anything for them and the fragile façade of school unity had crumbled alongside the rubble of the school.

The few who still sat there, this morning, we're the ones who ignored it, were going to keep their heads down until graduation, the defiant ones, ready to verbally brawl with whoever gave a side-eye, and the first years, many who cried as the sorting hat announced their new house. He didn’t know how the year would go, and with it being his last he didn’t have much energy to care, but he knew that McGonagall would have an uphill battle with reuniting the four houses.

“-rry. Harry!”

“What?” He brought his attention back to Hermione, who was pinning him with an inspecting look.

“I asked if you’re going to the library for your free period?” The first classes hadn’t even started and already Hermione had her old school habits in place, complete with timetables and color-coding notes. She found comfort in that regularity and he was happy she could find that. However, he definitely didn’t want to join her yet. Just the thought of being stuck inside the tall bookshelves of the library made his skin feel tight. He felt cramped, hot, and stifled. He needed fresh air.

“Actually.” Harry sipped from the cup, running with the feeling in his gut, “I think I am going to the pitch.”

“You really should study Harry the O.W.L.S are-“

“Several months away.” Ron cut in, wrapping an arm around Hermione, pulling her in close to distract her from refuting, “Come on Hermione it’s clear that Harry is tired, I doubt he would be able to study anyway.” Harry nodded, unable to not notice that Malfoy was staring down at his empty plate, ignoring the world. He wasn’t even bothering to fake like he was interested in eating. Malfoy was just there because he had to be. Ron shifted, blocking Harry’s line of sight towards the blonde man, “Hey how about we do a round of 1 v. 1?”

“It’s okay. I just want to clear my head. Thanks, though.” Ron merely shrugged, turning his attention back to Hermione and plotting out their ‘study’ date.

Emptying the last of his coffee, Harry gave the table a warm wave goodbye, refusing to look back at the Slytherins as he left the hall.

|//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\|

Early year Students, worried about being late or getting lost, scurried the hallways as Harry walked back from his dorm, quidditch robes on and broom in hand. All of them giving Harry a wide birth as they looked up at him like he was their personal savior. He even saw as one young man almost fell off a set of shifting stairs, his attention fully on ogling Harry. Luckily, he had friends close by to snatch him from the edge, though he didn’t seem as scared as they were instead still just staring at Harry until he managed to round the corner.

The grass was a vibrant green, spotted with dewdrops from the early morning dampness, as Harry headed down the hill towards the pitch. Opening up the storage shed, Harry finds the chest of balls, fishing out the slightly tarnish and dented practice snitch. It was slower than they used in actual games, with a bent wing, but unlike the regulation ones, Harry could call it right back to himself if he managed to lose it.

Walking out into the perfectly tripped pitch, Harry tossed the snitch high into the air and it took flight zipping off to join the clouds. Mounting his broom, Harry kicked off and joined it in the air.

The air was crisp and clean, the heat of summer started to slowly abate as fall muscled its way into the UK countryside. For the first moments, Harry closed his eyes and just enjoyed the wind rustling his hair, before scanning the air for a glint of gold. Moments later there was a flash to his right and harry went into a dive, pushing himself towards the fluttering snitch. The ball raced off, weaving between the towers, goal posts, and rafters, Harry close on its trail. His muscles pushed, pulled, and pinched as he exerted himself in the best of ways.

Within ten minutes, he had a light sheen of sweat along his brow and the ache of tiredness was replaced with an ache of exertion. He catches and releases the snitch over and over, each time closing his eyes to give it the chance to hide again.

When he opens them again, he notices something off in the distance, deep in the forbidden forest.

A great column of billowing smoke stretched high into the sky, small tendrils peeling apart between the branches before marching once again with the larger mass. The grays and whites are clean and controlled, most likely a bonfire rather than raging forest fire that would cause concern. Hagrid must be in the woods, burning something.

A flash of gold catches his attention, ignoring the forest, Harry dives for the snitch revealing in the exciting thrill of a free fall nosedive. Letting the rush of wind wipe away all the thoughts on his mind.


	3. The Snowdrop Pendant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Harry can't sleep he heads to a place that knows how to give him what he needs. It seems though, he isn't the only one up and about.

How is it that silence could be so deafeningly loud? That was the singular thought Harry’s tired mind was producing on repeat. Over and over like a mantra that sounded stranger with each iteration. Like saying the word ‘Until’ until it became utterly meaningless until you could finally stop the cycle. Something that probably wouldn’t happen for Harry until the sun rose and he had an excuse to pull his body out of bed. Until then he just laid there, noting the full moon was pouring in through his window, making his chest ache in a whole new way.

He had never been a good sleeper per se, living under a staircase can do that to you. Mornings were always a crashing shove into wakefulness as Aunt Petunia, as light as she was, would all but stomp down the stairs, blearily searching out her morning cup of tea and spot to peer over the hedge fence. At nights Vernon, who would stay up late watching the news, oftentimes falling asleep in his recliner, snoring like a great gagging walrus which Harry could hear with such vivid clarity it seeped into his dreams. Then there was his cousin, Dudley, who may have been a master at sneaking past his parents’ room, for a secretive midnight snack, but his hefty footfalls could never evade Harry’s attention.

In the first year, he had the slight glimmer of hope that sleep would come easier and for a while it was. But as the first year came to an end, the nightmares started up. Repeated and foggy images of snake eyes, green lights, and screaming. He thought they were terrible as a kid, unfortunately, they only got worse. Now they had evolved into full-blown night terrors, severe enough that Harry probably should have considered therapy or at least a good bottle of Fire Whiskey and an Obliviate to the face.

Every time he closed his eyes, he sees Sirius. Every nightmare started the same, Harry was in the woods, a sunny cheery meadow with happy birds and cutesy little bunnies. Walking the path Harry would just enjoy the sounds of nature his black dog body running about barking at squirrels and rustling in bushes. They would wrestle together and race one another through the trees. Then, Sirius would disappear, jump over some overgrowth, and be gone. Harry would try and follow but as he ran the forest would grow dark and cold, clouds overhead like a hail storm were just waiting to fall. Then he would burst through the thicket and he would find Sirius. Lying beside a murky lake, as a human, dead. Skin as devoid of life as a dried white rose.

The last thing he would always see was the empty wide pupil eyed stare. Movies lied; the dead never closed their eyes.

Skin tingling, His sheets were drenched in sweat, plastering his bangs to his forehead and the front of his shirt to his chest. The night was oppressively hot with the magic holding in the heat of the long, dead fireplace. His dorm mates were all fast asleep, curtains drawn closed tight, locking out the rest of the world and providing just a modicum of privacy that a boarding school had to give.

having spent the free time after dinner to fly again, Harry didn’t even bother to close his though, he was the last to bed. It was a fruitless attempt to try and exhaust himself into sleeping. Now his mind was muddy, racing and his limbs ached from overwork yet the inexplicable need to just simply keep moving.

Unable to handle restless tingling in his legs, Harry sits up, throwing his feet over the side onto the floor. Palming blindly, he snatches up his glasses on the nightstand.

The room is surprisingly bright. The angle of the window catching the bright bluish-white light bouncing from the moon, painting a large rectangle onto the floor and beds. The corner of the light bounces off the glass of Neville’s frog tank. Trevor’s almost neon yellow eyes stared back at Harry, unblinking, practically begging him to be set free. He was almost tempted to, except for the fact that cats like Crookshanks or Mrs. Norris would surely kill the creature and then what would that do to poor Neville.

The man was far more self-assured and fiercer fighter than once perceived before the Battle but he never lost the sensitive edge to him. It was for the better; honestly, the world could use more Neville’s in it, for what Harry’s opinions were worth. The orange eyes were far too similar though to the Golden gaze of Hedwig’s. The ache in Harry’s chest chiseled into a chasm, he missed her. Her cage set empty in the corner; no amount of logic could stop Harry’s urge to bring it with him. Now it just simply set on one of his bedside tables, like it always had, door unlocked and open slightly. The memory of her body falling out the sky flashed before his eyes, followed cruelly by the image of blank open eyes. How many empty wide pupils eyed stares had Harry had to confront so far.

The heat was becoming stifling, his breath becoming shallow. He needed to get out of this room. Go somewhere else to clear his thoughts

Slipping on his sneakers, Harry quickly and quietly sneaks out of the dorm room into the upper commons room. Below, the fire was still going. It never truly went out, just sort of dimmed in the nighttime.

He didn’t know what he needed but he knew just the place that would give him what he needed without having to vocalize it. Destination in mind, Harry starts to make a beeline for the Seventh Floor.

The halls are empty and quiet, and Harry reaches the seventh floor practically on autopilot.

Heading down the dimly lit hallway, He could just make out the edges of the ridiculously huge tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls ballet. The image of four large, lead-footed trolls attempting to do a Dance des Petits Cygnes from Swan Lake was guaranteed to capture the humorous attention of any passerby, making it even more certain that they will miss the magic room opposite them.

As Harry made his first of three passes over where the room of requirements would appear, he looked over at the opposite wall and froze.

The door was already visible, the room was already open. There was no need to walk by three times because someone was already inside it.

Pulling out his wand, Harry pressed against the wall. Slowly he opened the door and pivoted to look through the small gap inside. The room was huge and he could see no sign of movement. Quickly he slipped through the gap in the door, clicking it close behind him.

As soon as the door closed Harry felt his throat tighten, the urge to cough flooding his system. Throwing his hands over his mouth, he tries his best to not make an audible noise, trying to breathe through the thick dusty smell of ash. Each breath burned his nostrils like coarse salt water accidentally inhaled. Eyes tearing up, the space around him blurred slightly but it was all too obvious where he was.

With its ash covered surfaces and scorched scent, this was the burned-out wreckage of the storage room. The air was hazy and disgusting as if the fire had only been put out in the last ten minutes and not almost a year ago.

Every item, from massive bookshelves to the tiniest jewelry box, was blackened, charred and destroyed. Metals objects were pelted past the point of recognition, shattered glass littered the floor and massive still-kindling wood beams were strewn about. Ash still snowed from above, fluttering in the tinniest of air streams, coating every surface and in every crevice.

On the ground, Harry noticed several overlapping smeared footprints in the ash. Someone has been here and more than once. All of them headed to and from the same direction. Whoever was here knew where they were going and what they were looking for in between the smoldering maze walls.

Wand clutched tightly in his hand; Harry slowly started down one of the countless numbers of hallways. Following the path of whomever else was here.

The handful of prints that were discernable amongst the mass seemed to all be the same size and smooth sole appearance. It seemed that it was definitely the same person coming to and from the room. The thought put Harry’s nerves on edge. Surely everything was destroyed in the fire, what could anyone possibly want in this room. There was nothing guaranteeing that though. What if the cabinet survived? What if there was still a secret back entrance into the school? Picking up the pace Harry weaved between piled-high objects following the footpath made by another.

Then taking a sharp turn around the corner he could start to hear someone talking. Dropping down his center of gravity he slowly crept up to the next bend in the path. Just around that corner, on the other side. At the other end was the burned remains of a massive antique, Chinese cabinet. The painted redwood was charred black with massive splinters caused by the inferno’s heat exposing the lightwood, and chuck of the mother of pearl inlay had fallen loose. Pressing his back to the cabinet Harry strained his ears to hear what was happening.

He could hear mumbling, too faint to make out the words but it was there nonetheless. It was clearly a man’s voice, whoever they were talking to was either not responding or too quiet to be heard. There was only one set of shoe prints though. Something was not right.

Raising his wand, Harry readied himself to confront who or what was on the other side of the ornate furniture. Shifting his weight, readjusting his stance, the loud, tinkling grackle of delicate pearl rings in the air, crushed under the toe of his sneakers. Freezing up Harry stops breathing, straining to hear if the other occupant was alerted to his presence. There is utter silence.

“Confringo!” An explosion of red-hot embers bounced off the side of the cabinet, the spark taking and lighting the already burnt wood up one more time. Whoever fired the curse at him kept going, “Confringo! Confringo! Confringo!” All around him objects sparked and sizzled, burning ash landing on his skin in small sharp pains. Forgetting stealth all together Harry ran.

Without looking back, he turns and raced towards the door, behind him sparking curses flew by. “Confringo! Confringo!” Whoever was here was dead set on either scaring off Harry or setting him on fire. Taking every corner possible, Harry hopped to evade the flying curses and being seen by his pursuer. Idiot, he should have brought his cloak. Weaving almost blindly, everything looked like the same black, burned mush. Harry is desperate to gain ground. Up ahead he sees a small pile of burned destruction just tall enough to be an obstacle, but jumpable. Going at full speed, Harry easily vaults over the mass, landing with a clattering thud. A chain reaction starts as disturbed objects all fall from their precarious positions. Tossing up dust and ash as they fall against one another to the floor. With the noise and obstruction on his side, Harry quickly seeks out a place to hide. There in the far corner is what looks like a series of bookcase all falling into one another like long-forgotten gravestones. There is just enough space for a man to slip through.

Seeing a chance, Harry dives between two bookcases. Slamming a hand over his mouth he tries to as quickly and quietly as possible to slow his breath back down to a whisper of a sound. The splintering woodcuts and prods him all along his back. He will probably be bleeding from several spots.

Slowly, the sound of scuffing heels grew louder as the unknown pursuer draws closer. A pale hand clutching a wand came into view as the man stops running. Their grip is white-knuckled, surely close to breaking their wand in half as they point it side to side. They are searching for Harry.

Then his pursuer steps forward and Harry sees who is following him.

Draco Malfoy looks haggard; a thick coating of the kicked-up ash clung to his platinum hair turning it a steely grey. He appeared to be wearing the same clothes that Harry saw him in yesterday morning. The bags under his eyes seem to have only settled in deep and were now accompanied by the distinct redness of bloodshot eyes. Whatever Malfoy was up to, he had been losing a lot of sleep over it.

Flashes of the sixth year bombarded Harry’s memory, Malfoy looked almost, if not worse, than he did leading up to Dumbledore’s murder. His hands didn’t shake though as he pointed it back and forth as they did back then.

His eye twitches, before suddenly something catches his attention. He pockets his wand turning on his heels, heading back the way they came. The clicking of his fine polished heels making it easy for Harry to gauge how far away he was. Waiting a few minutes after that just to be safe, Harry slowly peaks out from his hiding space. He kicks something on the floor, which rolls and bounces off a melted globe on the floor. It’s bright white unlike the rest of the room.

Bending over, Harry fishes it out from a small pile of ash. Cleaning it off against his sleeve he inspects the small trinket. It’s a glass teardrop-shaped pendant on a delicate, silver chain. Inside is the tiniest white flowers Harry has ever seen. The long stems bend forward at the end, giving way to white bell-like flower petals. They also seemed to actually be alive. The topper is an intricate magically formed silver piece of cascading flowers. Amongst them is the carved initials D.L.M. This is Malfoy’s. Pocking the necklace, Harry leads for the exit.

Seeing that the coast is clear, Harry slipped back out, trying to puzzle out where exactly in the mess of a storage room he is. No luck, everything looked the same and even if it didn’t, he had never spent enough time in the room to really even know what was where. He could just make out the stone arch doorframe over the top of piled wreckage.

He doesn’t know how long it takes to actually navigate his way out of the Room of Requirements, just that it takes long enough for him to question if the sun is up already, but once in the hall, he can see that night is still thick and the castle sleeps. Rolling the trinket between his fingers Harry heads back to the Gryffindor common room. He needs to dig out his map. Malfoy was still in the room and he was up to something. Harry needed to know what and for how long. Shoving the necklace back into his pocket he picked up his pace.

“Mreow.” At the end of the hall sat Mrs. Norris, pinning Harry with her lamp-like eyes, seeming as though she had been set there all night simply waiting for him to show up. Leaning against the wall, messing with the candle inside his old rusty lantern was Filch. His head popped up instantly at his partner’s meows.

“Seems we have a troublemaker out of bed.” His face split into a toothy grin, Harry had just made his evening. “Good job, my dear.” Bending over he patted the cat on her head, she in return purred and rolled her head into his palm.

Turning his attention to Harry, Filch’s fond smile fell into a spiteful sneer, “What are you doing out of the bed?” He came closer, clearly trying to put up his most intimidating front.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Harry flatly said, feeling no need to hide what he was doing, “Taking a walk.”

“Break rules already?”

“I don’t see why taking a walk by myself should even be a rule worth breaking.”

“You kids have a curfew.” Filch took on the grave gravely tone that he loved to use when threatening kids with detention. It was a tone that should and use to bring a chill of dread down Harry’s spine. Now though, he felt didn’t less scared than just tired.

“I am an adult.” Harry retorted his own sneer matching Filch’s. The maintenance man’s fist angrily clenched to the handle of his lantern. His normal scare tactics weren’t working. None of them would work. Harry had long ago stopped being afraid of the man.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for being out late.” Filch gave a vengeful smile like he just knew Harry would fall to the floor ready to beg for the points back. It would frustrate his house but even that didn’t really bother Harry much. A house cup didn’t feel like much anymore, just a polished pot of tin to be passed around every year.

“Okay.”

“And twenty more for the lip.”

“Fine. That everything?”

Filch’s nose twitched in anger, “Get back to your dorm.” Filch spat before storming off down the hall, grumbling a slew of curse words under his breath. Harry watched his disappeared into the darkness of the long hallway, before continuing on his way back to his room.

clicking the dorm room door closed behind him Harry noted that everyone was still fast asleep when he returned.

Making a beeline for his storage chest, he dug out his map stashed between the pages of an old textbook. Slowly the crawling ink lines that scrawled across the page began to form the blueprints of Hogwarts, every room, passageway, and secret on full display for Harry to survey. On the fifth floor, he could see the small footprint path of Filch continuing his stalking, Mrs. Norris at his ankles keeping him company. A few stray prefects were finishing their rounds near their own dorms though there didn’t seem to by any students out to be caught, more importantly, Malfoy was still hidden on the seventh floor in the Room of Requirements.

Harry plucks up the pillow from his bed and props it on the windowsill. Sitting against it the walls of the window sill, Harry settles in for a long night of watching the map.

The ribbon with his name on it was stationary, no footprints around it, meaning that Malfoy hadn’t moved in a while, even within the room.

Seconds, minutes, or hours pass. It is hard to tell. There is no movement on the map and Harry doesn’t want to pull his eyes away long enough to seek out his watch.

His rear starts to ache and grows cold from the stone slabs of the sill. The first tinges of blue creep into the sky as the sun rises, turning clouds cotton candy pink. Nothing has happened. Malfoy’s name tag hasn’t moved an inch all night. If Harry didn’t know better, he would almost think this was a muggle map with how still the images were being.

With a frustrated groan, Harry thumps the side of his head against the cool glass of the tower’s window. His eyes ache. He wants nothing more than to just close them and go to sleep; however, whenever he tries, they only seem to ache and burn more. Angry imaginary starbursts scatter against the blackness of his eyelids

There was an unexpected glow cut, into his periphery view—a dulled red of light leaking through his closed eyes. Outside, just on the edges of the forbidden forest that was the orange glow streaming through the trees. It was too contained to be a forest fire, maybe a campfire or even lamplight. Hagrid must have been working in the forest again.

As he focused on the light, a figure walked out from the forest edge. He could just barely make it out, but it seemed to be a dog. Massive like Fang but more shapely, trim where Hagrid’s big slobbering buddy was all wrinkles.

He couldn’t tell if it was a wolf, Fang, or some other dog but from here it looked just like Sirius.

More unsettling though, it seemed like it was staring back.

Slowly, as if deliberately, the creature lowered its gaze, turning back and reentering the forest, disappearing amongst the dense thicket. Just like that, it was gone again, and with it so went the light. Harry shook his head. Surely, it’s just Hagrid messing around with some truly dangerous creature that he will inevitably thrust upon one of his magical creatures’ class.

Just like that it’s gone, like it was never there to begin with, no more real than Harry’s dreams about his godfather.

Looking back at the Map Harry notices Malfoy’s moved, not far but he seems to be moving around in the room. His little footstep path laps back and forth along over and over. He tracks about and forth nearly ten times before ultimately seeming to give up and leave the Room of Requirements. His little name tag floating through the map towards the Slytherin dungeons. Is he passing? Looking for something? Harry digs in his pocket and pulls out the necklace. He probably is looking for it. He didn’t know what it was or if it did anything, but it was evidently important to Malfoy and that was reason enough for Harry to keep a close eye on it.


	4. Death-Cap Draught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New teachers and old rivalries. Somethings never change at Hogwarts... right?

That morning, Hermione was perched at the Gryffindor table, reading her copy of the _Daily Prophet,_ while sipping her tea. She was always there first thing in the morning and finished with her food by the time Harry and Ron managed to stumble in. She had the front of her hair tied up to avoid falling into her teacup. Whatever she was reading fully had her attention, eyes not even skipping a line as she bent over to accept Ron’s kiss to the temple.

Harry sat across from them, reaching for a severing plate of toast. He could just catch the headlines as Hermione readjust the paper to read easier.

++ HISTORCIAL HERITAGE SITES UNDERATTACK ++ DEATH EATERS ON THE LOOSE ++ SHACKLEBOLT CAN’T CONTROL HIS ADMINISTRATION ++

HOW SCARED SHOULD WE BE?

Was emblazed in the 130-point font on the front of her paper, accompanied by a photo of a tired and frustrated looking Shacklebot, snapped at a press meeting. He was standing to the side of the podium as an aid spoke, light bulbs flashed in his eyes as he looked side to side not saying anything before closing his eyes and giving a sigh. He looked as if he had aged years in only months.

“Is there anything even worth reading in there anymore?” Ron asked, instantly pulling four large juicy pieces of sausages onto his plate. Hermione hummed, for years now she had read the paper every day, taking note, cutting clippings, compiling anything she that was important. Both the facts of an event and in many ways how the Prophet’s journalists chose to frame those events. She could probably fill her own wing of the library with journalism information, how media spun news, and how to read between the lines, with what she had collected over the years.

“The Aurors are still having problems pinning down several Death Eater cells. The paper is trying to pin it all on Ministry failures.”

“Fear propaganda?” Ron asked it was well known to the trio that the Prophet more than dabbled in fear-mongering when they had something to gain. Journalistic ethics tended to take a back seat to fear and rumor if it sells more copies.

Hermione flattened out the paper on the table, taking her quill and circling a passage several times, “The journalist is trying to lay out all the structural problems that are preventing progress.”

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t fear-driven.” Ron retorted it was a strategy they had all grown accustom to and could see through easier than some.

“True. There was an op-ed in it last week hinting at a big government conspiracy over it.” Hermione conceded in a tone that belied her utter contempt for the idea.

“They would claim Harry is a Death eater if they thought they could get away with it.” Ron leafed through the pile of news that Hermione had already read, pulling out the sports section.

“They already tried that.” Harry pointed out, remembering some of the more colorful illusions that Rita Skeeter was prone to use. She deserved to lose her journalistic license if the wizarding world even had those. Unfortunately for Harry, she made the paper to much money off his name, she was more likely to get a promotion rather than a dismissal. Ron and Hermione kept up their conversation as Harry’s mind drifted away.

Surreptitiously Harry searched the Slytherin table for Malfoy. Amongst all the black grey and green of the uniforms, we couldn’t make out the platinum white blonde that is a Hallmark of a Malfoy. Harry could decide whether he was surprised about that or not. Malfoy didn’t leave the room of Requirements more than 20 minutes before Harry and Ron normally came to the Great Hall. He was either recuperating from a night of sleeplessness but even then appearance meant everything to a Malfoy so skipping a meal would raise brows.

He should tell them what he saw last night. They would want to know, wouldn’t they? Maybe. Hermione most likely would say he was overreacting, Ron was more likely to take his side. Though he too might not like the idea of staying up all night tracking Malfoy as they did as kids. Ron, more than most, had pushed hard to get past the pains of the last few years. Having the constant reminder of Fred’s absence at home had created an effect in Ron that craved mental distraction. Something Hermione fostered with pushing him to read muggle literature and even trying to improve her flying to join him on day trips. He was especially taken with the world of _Alice in Wonderland_ and went into great detail about the book in his letters to Harry.

“Come on,” Hermione primly folded up the paper, tucking it between several textbooks. “We have to get to the Potions basement.” Pulling her wand from her hair, making the slightly frizzy curls cascade down in a way that made Ron’s face flush ever so slightly.

Harry simply grumbled to himself, collecting his own bag, “Great. First-period Potions, with Slytherin.”

“And this elusive Professor Davies.” Hermione confirmed, picking up her pace ready to ‘solve the mystery’ of the new teacher. “Harry, you are quiet this morning.”

“Just tired.” He shrugged waving to Luna as she passed, on her wait to the astronomy tower.

“You are always tired,” Hermione dismissed him, sparing a wave for the blonde Ravenclaw.

Harry scratched his forehead, a headache threatening to start up again, “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went out for a walk to clear my head and wound up at the Room of Requirements. Think was, the door was already open and someone was in there. Malfoy was in there.”

Ron perked up at that, a skeptical glare coming into his eye, “What was he doing?”

“I don’t know but I could hear him talking to someone.”

“Who was he talking too?”

“Not a clue. When I got close, he chased me off, nearly set my hair on fire. Afterward, I found this.” Harry fished the pendant out of his pocket, handing it to Hermione. The little petals inside were closed tightly, just on the cusp of blooming. They twinkled slightly, covered in microscopic dew drops just like the morning grass of the school grounds. She held it delicately, running her fingers along the chain and inscribed initials. Her lips were pulled tight, almost a flat line, in worry.

“Harry, I think you are worrying a bit too much. You should return that to him. It looks precious.” She handed back the necklace, watching as he tucked away once more.

“I don’t know Hermione,” Ron admitted, throwing an arm around her waist. “I don’t like the idea that he is messing around in the Room of Requirements again.”

“What does he have to gain though? Voldemort is dead and even then if Malfoy is caught doing anything even slightly Death Eater based his probation is forfeit and he could go to Azkaban for the rest of his life. He literally has no motive.”

“What about killing Harry?” Harry nodded in agreement what if he did want to hurt Harry or, worse, what if other people got hurt. At least Ron seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. Hermione just shook her head, unconvinced.

They entered the Potions room. Most of the desks were taken except for ones in the very front, much to Hermione’s pleasure. The Trio headed that way. Harry couldn’t help but notice the small size and disproportion amount of Red to Green.

“What about it.” She retorted, not even bothering to lower her voice. “If he wanted to do that, he has had plenty of opportunities to do it. There is no reason for him to try some convoluted secretive plot if the fingers going to be pointed at him anyways. He might as well just use an Unforgivable in the Great Hall. Either way, he ends up getting the kiss.” She said with finality, setting her heavy books down on a desk and taking a seat. Ron settled next to her, giving Harry a ‘what can you do’ kind of shrug.

“I still just want to know what he is doing…” Harry admitted, sitting down himself. He turned his head, trying to grab another look at Malfoy without being noticed. He wasn’t in the same clothes he had on last night, having gone to his room just long enough to change. His skin had a ghostly pallor to it, even in the dungeons he looked like the spookiest thing around. He was set at a table all by himself. One of only 3 other 8th year Slytherins, and the other two were paired off and avoiding making eye contact with him at any cost.

“Well why don’t you try askin-“

“Alright, you Rat Bastards, sit down and shut up!” Came a booming voice from the back of the room as the door slammed open, banging against the wall. In strode a man, with tightly shaved red hair so bright he looked to be part of the Weasley family tree. His voice was the kind of transatlantic effect that hinted at the man hopping between England and America for a while, or at least he wanted you to think that. A thick pungent smoke, pouring from a cigarette in his mouth, seeming to hang around him like a fog,

There was a slight gasp from several students including Hermione, a clear look of concern on her face. In the back of the room, Parvati bent towards her partners whispering rather loudly “Did he just call us bastards?” shocked disgust in her voice.

“You most certainly bet I did Miss… uhh… Miss…” He snapped his fingers and gave a come-hither gesture in demand of the student’s name.

“Parvati Pate-“

“Miss Party. You lot are 8th years and I have heard,” He shot Harry a singularly chilling glare. Harry could feel the questioning glances of his classmates, “that you lot want to be treated like adults, because you’ve seen and done it all, right?” He pointed the question at Parvati like she was the spokesperson for her grade. No one moved, hanging by a tight string just waiting to see what he would do. When she didn’t respond right away, Professor Davies gestured bigger and scrunched his brow like he was readying to a fight.

“…Yes?”

“Then I will speak to you like godforsaken adults. Open your books to 136.” And just like that, he seemed to snap back to normal, with a wry smile. Everyone scrambled to pull their books to the right page. The small print of the text was crammed in tight trying to fit the over 30 step process on two pages accompanied with a graphic ink drawing of a hand going through all 5 stages of decomposition on each finger. From the totally normal-looking thumb all the way the bony remains of a pinkie. Several students shifted uncomfortably as they read the title of the potion.

“Today we are making a rare but useful potion, the Death-Cap Draught,” Davies waved his wand, the chalk magically writing the words on the board, as he fished out from an inner pocket of his coat a small chipped bottle full of orange viscose liquid with white particles floating in it. “If made properly the person who ingests this draught can for all intents and purposes appear to be dead for several hours,” From behind his desk, Davies fished out a cage of songbirds. With surprising gentleness, he cupped a large Blue Jay that willingly hopped into his palm, depositing onto the desk, belly up. “The most advanced and skilled master can make the body look in its late stage of decay.” He pulled the stopped out with his teeth, tipping the bottle, and poured a single drop into the bird’s mouth. The Bird instantly let out a squeak of discomfort before falling limp onto the table. “However, if made improperly… It will simply kill you.”

Suddenly the bird started to melt like candle wax, the flesh and tissue pooling around it. Several students gasped, some even starting to tear up, covering their noses and turning away from the decaying body. Davies's smile just grew widened watching as the bird’s body turned from white and blue to oily blackness, “Keep watching.” He admonished several of the more squeamish students. Harry’s own stomach started to churn as the familiar signs of death were put on fast forward before him.

Finally, the decaying stopped and for several long seconds, the students stayed silent, desperate to hear any sign of life from the small creature. It neither moved, nor sang, nor cried, nor blinked. It looked good and truly dead. Then after they started to question the sanity and ethic of their new professor, the bird’s body suddenly started to reform. The flesh and feathers snapped back into place, black turned into vibrant blue and the little thing started to wiggle.

“There we are, right as rain.” He cupped the chirping bird, softly petting its feathered head. The bird gave a little song then took flight, only to then land on his shoulder to nip at his ear. Davies turned back to the front of the classroom and with a flick of his wand started inscribing the steps onto the chalkboard, “Now this potion will take multiple days to make. It is due next class but I expect to see you before then, tending to your work.” With that, he settled down into his seat and began reading notes. When none of the students made a move to start working, he yelled, “Well, get bloody started you don’t have all damn day.” In a flurry everyone stood up at once, making a dash for the ingredients closet.

“Where do they bloody find these people,” Ron muttered, Harry had to agree, Hogwarts had a tendency to pull the eccentric into its shadows. The potion overall seemed relatively easy, it needed few ingredients and one or two needed to be harvested in a highly specific way. What seemed to be the biggest issue was the variability of it. When you add what ingredient determined how far the decay illusion went and one to many stirs clockwise here or there could make the ingested appear dead for only a few minutes or almost an entire day.

Either of which could get a person very much killed for real if the illusion wasn’t proper for the circumstance. The trio started in on their own potions, Preheating cauldrons, cutting ingredients, and mixing bases. Davies sat at his desk, making himself busy with paper, whistling a stilted tune as he marked papers in red notes.

Everyone worked in near silence, only a handful of whispers amongst friends seeking help on a confusing portion of instructions. The end of class was fast approaching as Harry tried to cut up the last few pieces of his main ingredient, wanting to get it simmering before class ended to increase its potency. Suddenly the floor shook as an explosive fireball burst in the back of the room.

“What the living Hell was that?” Professor Davies practically roared, jumping to his feet, much to the disgruntled tweeting of the multiple birds on his shoulder. Everyone swiveled around to see what had happened. In the back corner, the room was blacked from the ash of the fireball. He stormed to the back of the room, but of his cigarette nearly setting his cloak on fire in his cursing tirade.

Malfoy was covered in blacked smoke, the edges of his hair burnt, his cauldron nearly melted from the heat it was trying to contain. Professor Davies waved his wand, instantly evaporating the smoke and cooling cauldron. Then he turned his fury on Malfoy, “What did you do?”

“I… I don’t really remember.” Malfoy sounded genuinely confused like it was inconceivable that a potion dares to spoil in his presence.

“You don’t remember?” Professor Davies looked ready to let out a screaming tirade but stopped short as the bird on his shoulder started chirping excitably in his ear. He raised a hand up and pat it until it went silent, “You look Terrible, Mr…”

“Malfoy.”

“Right, What’s wrong?”

“I just don’t feel good.” He mumbles an in a very un-Malfoy way he refused to make eye contact while speaking. In fact, everything about his was very uncharacteristic of a Malfoy. He was slouching in his seat, trying to make himself look as small a possible, eyes downcast and disarray to his hair that on anyone else would look natural but to a Malfoy’s normally polished look a complete disaster. He did indeed look very unwell.

“Well go to the infirmary and get the hell out of my sight until you’re ready to do the work properly.”

“Yes, Sir.” Malfoy quickly collected up his books and cauldron without looking at a single person as he shuffled out of the room. Professor Davies watched him leave before turning to the rest of them.

“Back to work,” He demanded heading back to his desk, whistling softly. Several students dropped their heads down, intent on looking busy lest they get yelled at next. Harry went back to slicing up his Amanita muscaria to the 8th of a cm.

“What the hell is with Malfoy?” Harry had to instantly ask; something didn’t sit right with him about the situation. Malfoy was one of the best potion students in their year, Even Snape’s favoritism didn’t undermine that fact. Hermione simply rolled her eyes at him whispering a put out ‘oh Harry’.

“Bloody git didn’t even take points.” Ron looked thoroughly annoyed, stirring his cauldron with a bit too much gusto. “If it was one of us.”

“You mean if it was one us and it was Snape.” Hermione primly snapped. “Professor Davies isn’t the same person, Ron.”

“Still, Malfoy could have bloody well exploded the entire room-“

“But he didn’t. Did he?” A stony voice said behind them. Ron nearly fell out of his seat, jumping in surprise. Professor Davies was looming over them, His multiple layers of ragged robes making him look even more imposing. He could give Snape a run for his money. “He singed himself, that is a good enough punishment. Don’t you agree?”

“N… Yes Sir.” Ron stammered unprepared to be confronted by the new teacher on his first day.

“Do you?” Davies raised a blocky eyebrow, the wrinkles on his head shifting and becoming deeper. “Hold to your convictions, kid. You want to have opinions than be ready to debate them, that’s what a man would do.” He strode back to the front of the room, leaving a flushed Ron at the center of everyone’s attention.

Once at the front of the room the Professor turning and addressed the entire class, “I will not be handing out house points in this class.” He started, pausing as several students started to whisper conspiratorially. “Your house cup is meaningless to me and it should bloody well be to you too. In this class, you will be making complex and sometimes dangerous potions. Either you do the potions correctly or you get hurt in the process. That should be enough motivation for you to pay attention. You are adults now and there are no brownie points in the real world. Class dismissed.” Just like that he headed for his office, slamming the door behind him on a class full of dumbfounded 8th years. It took a moment but slowly everyone started to clean up their workspaces, carefully take their cauldrons to the side of the room and make sure they knew when they needed to come back and work more.

“Well, that was interesting.” Hermione started as they exited out of the classroom into the dank dungeon halls.

“Bloody terrible you mean. What’s up with all potion professors being a sod.” Ron was still a little red from his previous embarrassing blush

“While I don’t disagree with you on his methods being… crass. He doesn’t seem to play favorites as Snape did.”

“Equal opportunity Asshole.”

“Ron.”

Something wasn’t sitting right with Harry about Malfoy. Maybe it was paranoia but his gut felt like something was off. If the previous 7 years at Hogwarts taught anything it was to always trust his gut. Trailing behind Ron and Hermione, Harry dug into his book bag looking for the Marauders Map.

Unfolding the map Harry searched the hundreds of names that moved like ants on a picnic blanket. Malfoy’s name wasn’t in the infirmary, or the dorms, or anywhere close to where he ought to be. He was in the Room of Requirements. Harrys mind went on high alert, his leg muscle spasmed wanting nothing more than to run there immediately. He was about to show Ron and Hermione when a question caught his attention.

“Want to join us on the front lawn Harry?” Ron asked, looking excited to escape into the fresh air for their free period. He always had taken to their camping better than Harry or Hermione, “It’s lovely out.”

Shoving the map into his bag, hiding it out of view, Harry shakes his head, “You guys go ahead; I need to go take a nap or something.” He tried to lie convincingly. Ron simply shrugged not bothered in the slightest.

“Okay, Mate, see you later.” Ron waved him away, throwing his arm over Hermione’s shoulder and heading towards the entrance hall.

Harry watched them for a moment, before quickly heading to the 7th floor.

No one was close to the room of requirements which had its door on display. Clearly Malfoy wasn’t super concerned about hiding what he was doing. Not like anyone would see it in this remote part of the castle. Pushing open the door Harry slipped back inside once more and followed the trail of ash and footprints back to that charred Chinese cabinet.

“There is always the chance during the next new moon, the forest is so calm and beautiful, the perfect time for a visit.” Malfoy was talking excitedly, whatever he was planning was a but deal and happening soon. Harry couldn’t hear what his companion was saying but it couldn’t be good. “No. No one will bother us. I will make sure of that.”

Taking his chance, Harry raised his wand, to confront the Slytherin. “Alright, Malfoy who are you talking to?” Harry rounded the corner quickly, aiming his wand right at Malfoy’s and his companion. The only problem was, Malfoy was all alone.

He sat stock still, shocked, in front of the Mirror of Erised. He wasn’t talking to anyone. He was talking to himself, or from his perspective, he was talking to someone in his fantasy. Malfoy swiveled around, twisting his spine in a way that had to be painful. He wand slipped in his hand, clattering into the space between him and Harry.

Just over Malfoy’s head, Harry could just start to make out his own reflection in the mirror. The tall mirror in its slightly burnt gold frame liked slightly warped from the heat, the glass splotches, and dirty. However, it was still reflecting as clearly as the day Harry found it. It had been years since he laid eyes on the enchanted object. Unlike in the first year though, as Harry stared into the reflective surface, He saw nothing. All that was there was his reflection staring back. It looked like nothing more than a normal mirror. Maybe he wasn't close enough to see his desires or maybe it took longer to conjure. Before whatever desire the mirror could conjure for him, Malfoy stood up, “What are you doing here?”

He still looked a mess, hair, and face still singed from the accident in class. He clearly had just come straight here instead of going to the infirmary. His skin was an irritated red, most likely burned slightly from the sudden amount of heat caused by the fireball.

“I should be the one asking that question, Malfoy,” Harry demanded, refusing to lower his wand even a centimeter. He may look a mess but Malfoy was still a threat, Harry didn't care if he seemed to be falling apart at the seams.

Malfoys face became pinched like he was smelling something truly foul, “Get the hell out of here Potter.”

“Not till you tell me what you’re doing.”

“Don’t you have some helpless muggles to save from their own stupidity?” He rolled his eyes, even as a disgraced heir of a murders fortune and Malfoy still acted like he was the biggest Prat in the Northern Hemisphere.

“Don’t you have an appointment with Madam Pomphrey?” He spat back, a small part of him taking pleasure in the annoyed snort Malfoy gave.

“It’s none of your business.” Malfoy started to yell, his face becoming even redder from anger.

“I think anything you do in the Room of Requirements is very much my business Malfoy.” Harry took a step closer, notice how Malfoys shoulders tightened up, ready to fight. His fists clenching tight. Harry could;t help but notice the black leather glove over Malfoy's left hand. Did he always were that? It was rather cold in this abandoned part of the castle.

“Your, not my handler, Pott head.” Malfoys raised voice pulled Harry's attention back to his angry eyes. He was stepping closer. Completely ignoring his wand on the ground.

“No, but I can tell them what you’re doing.”

“You self-righteous… Go away!”

“Or what Malfoy?” Harry straightened his wand arm, pressing it right into Malfoy's chest, bringing to attention the fact that he was ready to magic Malfoy into submission. Malfoy didn’t even have his wand near him, it was left on the floor in his haste to stand up. Though he didn't seem to be thinking about that. His behavior was erratic.

“I’ll beat you into next year.” Harry couldn't hold back the full belly laugh that though brought him.

“I would like to see you try.” Harry lowered his wand, stepping forward so they were nose to nose. Malfoy had a good inch over Harry but that wouldn't matter anyway. Malfoy was never the most physically gifted student. His body always being leaner like a seeker than muscled like a beater. “I’ll only ask one more time, what are you doing with the Mirror?”

“Piss off.” A small amount of spittle hitting Hary in the cheek. Suddenly Harry felt like a kid again, like they were back in 2nd year and toeing off in dueling club. Had really nothing changed? Why did that fact make Harry feel so down? He suddenly didn't care much anymore to keep up the front to fight. what was the point? Seemed like nothing was going to change.

“You know what Malfoy." Harry took a step back. "If you won’t tell me then let’s just see what McGonagall has to say.”

“I’m not afraid of her or you.” He tried to sound enraged but Harry could see it in his eyes. Malfoy was worried. Shaking his head, Harry backed away. 

“Fair enough, see you around.” Harry turned on his heels and headed back towards the door.

“Go Die, Potter.” Was the last angry scream he heard from Malfoy as he slipped back out of the Room of Requirements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and supporting. Like and Comments if you'd like to see more. It really does make my day.


	5. Dusty Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry still hasn't told anyone about Malfoy in the mirror. For some reason, his conscience won't let him and it makes no damn sense... compels him though.

It had been over a week and Harry’s couldn’t seem to drop the encounter with Malfoy for more than a few seconds. Constantly he was thinking about what he saw, what was said, and what he should do. Should not want to be the point of contention in his mind. He threatened to go to McGonagall but his gut just wouldn’t let him do that. A knotting mass in the pit of his belly formed whenever he humored the idea of telling a teacher.

All of this just swirled around in his tired mind like a tornado of annoyance, leaving him feeling raw and irritable. He was currently sat inform of the common room fire, staring into the strong flames hoping they would ‘illuminate’ his troubles. Though with the last of the summer heat clinging it the air, the fire did little more than make brow sweat.

“Hey Mate,” Ron all but vaulted over the back of the nearby couch, disrupting reading 4rth year as she was bounced by the force. Harry gave her an apologetic smile, giving a small ‘sorry’ to the 4rth year who slammed her book shut with a huff and walked off. Ron noted Harry’s stormy expression, “What’s got you all gloomy?”

“I figured out what Malfoy was doing in the Room of Requirements,” Harry admitted to the pair.

“Was it some extremely diabolical plan?” Hermione deadpanned, settling where the girl once had been, under Ron’s arm, throw haphazardly over the back of the couch.

“He was using the Mirror of Erised. Actually, talking to it.” Ron and Hermione shared a look that to Harry seemed like they had a silent conversation in almost an instant. Ron leaned forward, dropping his voice a bit lower to avoid the eavesdropping ears that inevitably followed Harry.

“The mirror?”

“You know what that is?” Hermione looked surprised.

“Yeah, Harry and I used it in our first year.” Ron threw him arm back, around her shoulders, leaning back with a look of waxing reminiscence on his face. “I remember now, I saw myself being a house boy and Quidditch Captain and winning the house cup.” The small smile on his lips was nostalgic in a way Harry wished he could be. Hermione was even smiling fondly, shaking her head good-naturedly.

“I saw my family.” Harry added as well, “Dumbledore also hid the Sorcerer’s stone inside it.” Quick to change the subject, trying to avoid noticing the sad look on their faces.

“And it’s in the Room of Requirements now?” Ron seemed gobbed smacked.

Harry nodded, “Dumbledore did say he hid it so no one could find it.”

Ron snorted, “Well that worked out…” He settled back looking content like the issue was completely settled.

Hermione though didn’t look so convinced, her eyes had that sharp edge to them, “It survived the fire? I figured it would have been destroyed by now.”

“It looks a little burnt from the fire but it’s clearly working.” At least Harry was pretty sure it was. He hadn’t seen anything other than himself, so the reflections were there but the other images weren’t clear to him. Malfoy might be a mad git but Harry truly doubted he had made the plunge into madness so deep that he talks to himself.

“How could it or anything survive that inferno?” Ron shuddered remembering that horrible Hellfire.

“Well, you said it was enchanted, right?” Hermione asked. Ron and Harry nodded in confirmation. “It probably has some protections on it. A lot of magical objects usually have some form of magic to protect them from abuse or destruction.”

“Wait, do we need to worry about the cabinet?” Ron asked anxiously.

“The ministry and McGonagall claim that they already took care of it. I highly doubt she would let it stay on the premises after…” Hermione went quiet, eyes darting side to side like the thoughts in her head were literally being tossed before them. “You say Malfoy’s been going there at night?”

“Almost every single night since the year started,” Harry confirmed. “I am not sure if he is doing other things in there but-“

“Why don’t you just tell McGonagall and be done with it?” Ron finally asked the question that had been pestering Harry for days. Hermione was quick to shake her head no, nocking a few frizzy curls into Ron’s face.

“Malfoy could get in a lot of trouble if he is accused of anything.” Hermione, answered for him, already having the words that Harry had been struggling with for hours. “Especially if it's Harry doing it.”

“So?”

“Ron, do you really think he deserves Azkaban for doing nothing more than looking at a mirror?”

“He deserves it for a lot more than that.”

“And he was acquitted. Really, Ron, vanity isn’t a crime.” Hermione was right, the situation was barely within his control, and telling another adult could easily spiral it out. The more who knew the more who would try to put their thumbs on the scale. The effects of which could destroy a lot of people’s lives. The courts so far had been accepting to look the other way when it came to death eaters’ kids, accepting that they were basically indoctrinated too young to know better. That didn’t mean though that there weren’t people still trying to get people like Malfoy kissed by a dementor, or worse.

“Well, there has got to be a reason that he is skulking the halls every night, messing with magic mirrors…”

“You said you saw your family in the mirror?” Hermione pressed him, clearly already formulating an idea. Harry nodded, she turned to Ron, “and you saw yourself outperforming your brothers and being in the spotlight.” Ron’s lips pressed thin, not enjoying having his insecurities put on such display, but nodded none the less. “So, this mirror is obviously showing you your deepest desires. I mean with a name like Erised it’s a bit on the nose,” Hermione concluded. Ron and Harry looked at each other surprised and confused. How did she manage to figure things out so quickly? Hermione took one look at their confused faces and gave a put-upon sigh, “Oh, come on now, you two are telling me you never noticed that Erised is just Desire spelled backward?”

Harry's cheeks grew hot with an embarrassed flush. Ron’s ears became a flaming red that blended in with his hair. Seeing their reaction Hermione gave another sigh “…boys…” Hermione went back to mumbling to herself, “I feel like I read something about it, something about it having a ‘controlling power’ or something.”

“The last time I saw it Dumbledore said that men have wasted away looking at it.” That caught her attention, she looked ready to race to the library that second. Ron however simply sneered, looking like this conversation had already gone longer than he cared for.

“How many times did you go see it?”

“Not sure but it was a lot. Every other night for probably two or three weeks.” Harry honestly tried to remember but it was hazy, the memory wasn’t so much nonexistent as it felt like it was an event he read about in a book. Something you remember but didn’t happen to you.

“Who cares what he is doing with the mirror,” Ron’s irritated voice broke him out of his memories. “Are we really comfortable with Malfoy running around at night?” Ron exclaimed putting all his emphasis on the night “Who knows what he could be doing and that’s just more reason for you to go to McGonagall right now.”

“They wouldn’t be able to do much Ron. If what Dumbledore told Harry was true about people wasting away, that makes it sound like it’s addictive.”

“And?”

“Have you ever known someone addicted to a substance?” Hermione’s voice grew high pitched, cracking with indignation. “Addiction can do horrible things to people. They can become so desperate for another hit of their addiction that they would willingly hurt themselves even potentially killing themselves in the process.”

“But this is just a mirror, Hermione, not some tainted bottles of Calming Draught.”

“More reason to be cautious. We don’t know what effects this mirror has on people yet. I just need to find a book. I know I read about this somewhere.” Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand, giving him a meaningful look, “Let me do some research before you tell anyone, Harry.” She had that look of certainty in her eyes, the kind of look she gave when insisting on House elf rights or making a Polyjuice potion that was far more advanced than her years. It was a safe harbor for Harry, a look that told him he wasn’t alone and could lean on someone to help get the work done. Nodding his head, he stood up.

“Come on, I am hungry.” Maybe food would take his mind off the matter. The incessant nagging was going to drive him up a wall. It took up so much space in his mind, almost every thought seemed to circle back around to it. The smells from the fireplace remind him of the charred Room of Requirements, the flowers made him think about the strange charm still in his pocket, even the boring ache in his back, brought on by professor Bines’ history lectures felt like the splinters of broken objects pressing into his back.

He really didn’t want to care but his mind kept circling back to it. Any distraction would be greatly appreciated.

The trio made their way down to the Great Hall, which was swelling with the power of hundreds of voices. Platters overflowing with food was being passed back and forth over the top of essays being hurriedly finished at the last minute. As they found their spots at the long Gryffindor table, Harry scanned over top of heads at the Slytherin table. Kids were chatting and laughing, but in the sea of students, Harry couldn’t see that telltale shock of platinum blonde anywhere.

Finally sitting down, Harry bent over to whisper to Hermione, “He isn’t here again.” Harry pointed to the Slytherin table. Malfoy couldn’t be found. Hermione’s nodded in understanding then went back to the conversation that Ginny was having with a few of her friends, the names of the newest, and best looking, professional quidditch player being tossed about.

Ginny kept tossing cautiously curious looks in Harry’s direction. He hadn’t talked to her since the year had started. He wasn’t actively avoiding her; however, he wasn’t actively trying to talk to her either. He kept him at a distance since the war. She needed time with her family and he just needed time. Now he just didn’t have it in him to talk to her, especially about something as serious as their relationship. It wasn’t good, or the right thing to do, but Harry also couldn’t bring himself to care about that either. The relationship just slipped away, ending quietly like so many important things seem to do. Disappearing into the night leaving the survivors wondering decades later ‘what had happened?’

A calm came over the tables as more people filled their bellies with warm food and began to dread having to actually go back to class. Several students simply were happy for the opportunity to study outside in the sun while they still could. Harry even managed to pull his eyes away from the Slytherin table long enough to eat a couple of slices of toast.

Then, as the meal came to an end, overhead there was the sound of rustling feathers as a flock of bird’s flutter down through the enchanted ceiling’s illusion. Letters and packages were dropped down onto laps, heads, goblets of pumpkin juice, and into waiting hands of excited kids. Several owls settled next to their students, nibbling on their ears and looking for an extra treat for doing a good job.

Soon the delivery birds were either settled by their kids or had flown back to the Owlery. All except one. Up in the air, circling the Slytherin table was a majestic looking hawk. It was sleek with glistening dark feathers and a viciously sharp little beak. Grasped in its talons was a small bundle of letters, tied together with Silver Ribbon. It swirled in circles and started to squawk in frustration as it couldn’t find its owner. It was looking for Malfoy.

Students turned and pointed at it, confused on why it was becoming more agitated, its circles becoming more erratic and large arcing dives that threaten to nock into heads. Students ducked and Hagrid was quick on his feet, racing over to try and call over the angry avian. The hawk refused to land instead of getting louder and aiming its dives at Hagrid. Soon other teachers were trying to calm the students and bird, pulling out wands and trying to spell it calmly. However, the bird was fast and smart, dodging spells, and hands alike. It clearly wasn’t going to stop for anyone other than Malfoy.

Amongst the commotion Harry stood up, looking at Hermione, he told her, “I am going to find him.”

“Harry-“ignoring her response, Harry headed for the Great Hall’s massive double doors. Once in the quiet hall, Harry debated whether to head for the dungeons of the castle or instead towards the Room of Requirements. If only he had his map to be certain. Going with his gut, Harry turned towards the stairs with the most direct route to the 7th floor. Taking them two at a time he made it all the way, past the gossiping paintings and meandering ghosts, to the 4rth floor before running into another living person.

Malfoy was looking stormy as he marched down the hall. Even in the heat, Malfoy was wearing his full robes, every button in its place. Just looking at him made Harry feel stifling hot. However, it could just be the low-level anger that sparked whenever he saw Malfoys face.

“Malfoy!” Harry yelled at him, snatching the other man’s attention from fussing with some invisible dust on his sleeve. Snapping his head up, Malfoy gave an instant sneer at once he recognized who was yelling at him.

“What do you want, Potter?” He stopped where he was, taking up a tense stance. He looked decidedly worse for wear. Even with the impeccable uniform, his skin seemed more pale than usual and like he was in serious need of some water and sleep.

“Your birds making a muck in the Great Hall.” Harry stepped up to him, crossing his arms, “Why aren’t you there?”

“Stalking me now, are we?” Malfoy looked unimpressed, with the haughty air that clings to him like a stench. Hearing the term stalking made Harry’s hackles raise, he wasn’t stalking. He wasn’t obsessed with Malfoy; he was just keeping tabs on a potential enemy. Why could no one else see that?

“Why are you hanging around the Room of Requirements?”

“Last I checked its none of your damn business.”

“It is if you’re up to something.” Harry accused, hoping to egg him on. That seemed to actually make Malfoy deflate.

“I don’t bother people anymore. I haven’t for a while.” He admitted probably louder than he meant to, an almost sad look passing over his features. “Go bother someone else. I’m sure the Weaselette would prefer your incessant bitching, or is she too busy seeing other men now.” Just like that the vulnerability was gone, locked tight behind an angry frown.

“You leave Ginny out of this.” The heat in the base of Harry’s stomach grew hotter. Malfoy had no right to talk about any of the Weasleys ever again.

“Rumor has it she has the whole Gryffindor team wrapped around her finger,” Malfoy mocked, a sick enjoyment coming off his words at her expense, “or should I say her legs?” Harry’s fists clenched, he wanted to punch a wall.

“Shut up Malfoy?” He never knew when to keep his mouth shut. “Not enough of a man for her?”

“Don’t act like you know what you’re talking about.” Harry growled, under his breathe he added, “I’m not what she needs.”

Malfoy gave a cruel laugh like he heard Harry’s small admission. “Just admit it Potter” He took a step closer, getting into Harry’s personal space. The proximity made the depth of his tired eyes clearer, they looked bruised and bloodshot like he had been crying for hours, “You’re just mad because nobody needs you anymore.” His voice was cold and unnervingly even like he was stating simple facts. “You are upset because, after everything you did and everything you gave, no one gives a shit. You did your job, like a tool and now that you’re done, they are going to throw you in a cupboard like an old broom.” Harry’s heart gave a lurch at that.

Old memories of tin men, spiders, and dust bunny friends crashing back to the forefront of his mind after years of pushing it back. The sounds of his cousins lumbering footsteps mixed with his aunt’s shrill screams. The sudden moment making Harry feel young, vulnerable. Nothing more than a scared kid in a cark hole in the wall unable to stop anything bad from happening to him.

He felt like he needed to vomit what little food was in his stomach so far. How dare Malfoy make him feel like that again. What gave him the right to dig so deep under Harry’s skin and make him miserable. He had no right to control Harry’s emotions better than Harry could himself.

“Shut the hell up Malfoy.” He lurched forward, the heat was bubbling up, his heart was starting to race again. It had been so long since he felt this level of adrenaline, everything seemed clearer. Having more detail. He was ready to keep Malfoy from talking anyway he could. “Or else.”

“Awww,” His fake sympathy looked distorted and cruel as his eyes flashed angrily, “upset that now that the world is saved no one needs the Great. Harry. Potter. Anymore!” He neatly spits each last word, and then it was there, a sudden crashing wave of emotions Harry hadn’t felt in so long.

Like a quaffle barreling into his chest, an angry fire exploded forth. Reeling back, Harry punched Malfoy, square in the jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Lovelies,
> 
> Well, it's been quite a week... month... year. I hope this can be a bit of a reprieve for the stressors of the world for you all. I hope you enjoy and if you did, please like and comment.


	6. The Barter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's becoming clear that Malfoy is struggling against a powerful obsession with the Mirror. For some reason, that Harry can not really verbalize, this bothers him. Is it his savior complex or something else?

The bruises on his knuckle only just start to heal, turning from inky black blue into bile yellow, when Harry starts to monitor the hallway to the Room of Requirements. He begins to carry the Marauders Map around with him wherever he goes. Pulling it out whenever given a free moment to seek out one name, Draco Malfoy.

He didn’t want to admit to anyone, even himself when he started to notice a pattern. Whenever Malfoy wasn’t expected to be in class he would be loitering around the Room of Requirements. Meals were flexible, only going to the Great Hall once in the morning at least and he didn’t seem to go to his room to sleep for days on end.

It was also his own newly budding patterns of behavior that bothered him to his core.

Harry was disquieted by his own lack of interest in anything not pertaining to Malfoy or the mirror. Every night he would try in vain to get a few hours of sleep when all his mind wanted to do was stare at the map. It raced with questions about what was happening, what was going on, who was awake, were the teachers monitoring the hall, had they caught on to Malfoy going to the 7th floor, was Malfoy okay?

That last question was the one that always tripped Harry up. He asked it far too often in the middle of the night. In those soft morning hours, he would, with a foggy mind, circle around this question for what felt like years.

The slamming of a massive book on his table mocked Harry out of his contemplations. “It took me a while to remember where I read it,” Hermione sat down across from him, pulling the book closer to her, “but I finally found the Book.” _Whosits, Whatits, and Thinga Magicabobs: Magicing the Everyday object by Regin T. Hephaestus_ was a massive leather-bound tomb that looked almost brand new. It must not have been a book that many students used, it was a wonder how Hermione even found it in the first place, though it would honestly be more shocking if she hadn’t read every book in the library by now. Pulling at a purple ribbon, Hermione opened up the text to the exact page she needed, tucked between that pages were several sheets of parchment with her quick and neat notes on them.

“So, there wasn’t much to go off of,” Hermione pulled her hair back into a messy bun, “but I think I found a reference to the mirror itself in here.” She pointed to a block of text, “Harry can you remind me again, what exactly Dumbledore told you about the mirror.”

“He had said something along the lines of the mirror shows you your deepest desires, that the happiest man in the world could look in and only see himself and that men have wasted away before it.”

“See I would have assumed that Dumbledore meant people become addicted to the mirror and slowly die simply from not taking of themselves, but look here.” She pointed to a bit of small dense text.

**_Once crafted, objects of this group become almost like a parasitic organism in their own right. They have a limited magical store and will seek out magical sources to empower and insure their own continued existence. Replenishment spells may work but most objects of this style require a nearly constant source of power. For this reason, few objects of this nature have been made and maintained throughout history._ **

**_There are few examples of such objects but one fascinated myth tells of a queen so concerned about losing her husband to younger women, she magicked a mirror to keep his eyes from wandering; as he would meet no other woman more desirous than that which he saw in the mirror. In darker version of the tale the King, and any of those who look into the mirror, are driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible._ **

Harry reread the first part of the passage to be sure he understood it, “This makes it sound like the mirror is alive.”

“That’s what worries me.” Hermione looked grim, “Harry, it sounds like the mirror is draining Malfoy of his magic for energy while simultaneously making him so obsessed with it that he would rather die in front of it than actually take care of his body. Harry, whatever is happening to Malfoy needs to be stopped soon.” Hermione was worried. She wasn’t saying what would happen but Harry could tell that it was going to be terrible. He pulled out his map again, already looking at the areas he knows he would most likely see the name tag Dracon Malfoy floating down the halls.

There Malfoy was just coming up from the dungeons and making a beeline for the 7th floor. Luckily his bath would bring him close to the library, if Harry moved fast he might have a chance to intercept the other man.

“I’ll put an end to this.” Grabbing his bag, Harry quickly raced out of the library. Hermione tried to follow but couldn’t get her hands around all her books before Harry had disappeared through the double doors. If he was fast enough, he could cut Malfoy off before he gets to the Room of Requirements. He blew past confused students, a trail of whispers and gossip quick on his tail as he nearly ran down the halls.

Turning the corner, Harry skidded to a stop, nearly colliding into the other man.

“What do you want Potter?” Malfoy sneered, pulling at the recently healed split lip. Harry didn’t know if it was because of the knowledge he had now, but Malfoy looked even worse than normal. Normally deathly pale, here he just looked deathly, lifeless. His hair was lackluster, the bags under his eyes were swollen.

Harry hadn’t even stopped to think about what he was going to say to the other man. What did he want? How was he going to stop him from going to the mirror? He couldn’t tell him the truth. There was no way that Malfoy would believe him.

“I…” Harry bent in half trying to catch his breath. He frantically tried to come up with a reason to talk to Malfoy, “Last week. Not done with you yet.”

“Excuse me?” Malfoy looked shocked and appalled.

“I mean,” He gasped one last breath before standing to his full height, “You’re a dick and I want round two.” Malfoy took a step back, out of Harry’s reach. He reached for his wand but Harry threw his hands up though to show he wasn’t going to hurt anyone. “Quidditch!” He nearly shouted, which made Malfoy freeze, looking completely shocked. “One round to settle the score.”

Malfoy stared at him like he was offering to start a knitting circle with him. Seeming to remember himself though, Malfoy adjusted his book bag and brushed past hair, “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Harry started following him down the hallway, keeping close to the irritated man.

“I have better things to do.” He glared at Harry over his shoulder, picking up the pace to get away from Harry.

“I think you’re scared.” Harry hit a nerve with that.

Malfoy stopped, wheeling around to glare at Harry. His face was flushed absolutely red and his breather was heavy.

“I am no-“

“Afraid I will kick your ass on the field?” Harry just kept going, seeing a chance to goad Malfoy.

“You wish, Potter.” The venom in his voice was thick. His eyes though flare with the challenge, a sudden bit of life coming back to his expression. “I could fly circles around you.”

Harry smiled, seeing his chance, “Then, why don’t you prove it.” Egging Malfoy on, Harry toes up with the other man, hoping to exude an air of challenge, “Put your money where your mouth is.”

Glaring, Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. Harry watched as Malfoys quicksilver eyes bounced around taking in every detail of Harry’s face. Harry wonders what exactly Malfoy is seeing if it's as ugly looking as it feels late at night. Whatever it is though, Malfoy seems to shake it off, unimpressed, “I have better things to do.”

Seeing his window of opportunity slipping, Harry grabs Malfoy’s arm. Instantly Malfoy tenses up, yanking to try and slip Harry’s grip. Harry refused to let go. There was no way that he was going to let Malfoy a single step closer to the Room of Requirements, “How about we make this more interesting.” With his free hand, Harry digs into his pant pocket, pulling out the delicate little charm he found weeks ago. He held it up, enjoying the way the light bounced off the nearly translucent crystal glass. “If you win, I will give you this.”

Like melting ice, the look of contempt on Malfoys face slide off into shock, “Where did you get that!?” He lashed out, trying to grab it, but Harry took three quick steps back and a safe distance away from Malfoy’s clutching fingers.

“Found it,” Harry said vaguely, throwing his arm high above his head to put distance between Malfoy and the charm. Malfoy tried to reach for it, bringing him unbearable close to Harry. An earthy slightly powdery scent wafted from Malfoy, it was a surprisingly simple smell for a man that seemed constantly surrounded but opulence. It was oddly comforting for a man whose life seemed to revolve around pomp.

Suddenly noticing just how close they were, Malfoy jumps back, pulling his hands to his chest as if he was burned, “Give it here Potter.” He kept demanding.

“Mmm, rather not.”

“Give it to me!” He was starting to sound distressed. Whatever this little charm was it seemed to mean a lot to him. Harry rolled it between his fingers, inspecting it to see if it would tell him why it was precious. It looked beautiful, but then again so did many of Malfoy’s things and he didn’t seem to treat them with as much reverence. Pocketing the item Harry knew he had the other man tethered.

“You’ll have to do is play me for it,” Harry announced, turning and heading down the hall, certain that Malfoy would follow him. Several seconds passed where he could hear nothing behind him, then a rustle of robes and fancy shoes on stone told him that Malfoy was hot on his tail.

“You’re a bloody Git, Potter.” The other man spat at him, stalking behind.

“Yup,” Harry confirmed with a smirk. The pair walked in silence all the way to the pitch. Opening the supply closet, he dug out the massive ball box. Flipping the lib open he pulled open the miniature gold French doors that hid the compartment with a Snitch inside. Gripping the small gold ball tightly, to avoid it from slipping free and flying away. Shoving the rest of the box back Harry came out of the closet, Malfoy watching all of this with a complete look of loathing on his face, “Alright, one round. Whoever catches the snitch wind. Sound easy enough?”

“Just get it over with Potter.” With the ever-present air of haughtiness, Malfoy snatched up a broom and sauntered out to the center of the field. Harry was quick to grab his own and chase after the other man.

Facing each other, they mounted their brooms, poised to take off. “On the count of Ten,” Harry announced. On the count of five, he let go of the snitch, which zipped out of his grip and views, headed to the sky. Six, he dug his heels in. Seven, tightened his grip ready to rocket off into the sky. Eight, Harry checked to see if there was any flash of golden light. Nine, looking back down he locked eyes with Malfoy’s. Ten!

The duo launched off at the same moment, rushing into the air, high above everything else. The autumn air felt amazing as it whipped wildly through Harry’s hair. Nothing felt better than being high in the sky, above it all, looking down at the rolling hills of the Scottish countryside. Harry and Malfoy circle each other in an unchoreographed but intricate dance.

Windswept their hair and their flushed cheeks. A smile growing on Harry’s face, revealing in the excitement of flying. He would never get tired of flying.

Drifting around the pitch, Harry scanned the skies, but constantly his eyes kept coming back to Malfoy. There was grace in the way that flew about, his broom seeming like an extension of his body, moving with a ballerina’s fluidity. Harry would be lying if he didn’t admit that Malfoy made flying look easy. Even from their first lessons, when he took off practically standing on the bristles, Malfoy had an air of confidence and control that was enviable.

They circled in closer to one another, staring down each other and that was when Harry noticed something. There was something there that Harry had never seen before. It’s just a flash, easily missed if Harry wasn’t so lucky to catch it, but He sees it none the less. In Malfoys crystal clear eyes is a spark of life, excitement, joy. He looks youthfully happy.

“You’re not going to find the snitch if you keep staring at me, Potter,” Malfoy yelled, smiling wildly, in a teasing tone.

“I am just trying to figure out how you managed to stay on your broom, you washed up seeker.” Harry threw back, his words lacking their normal fire.

“Please, I was flying circles around you since we were kids.” Malfoy actually laughed. A real laugh, it was excitable and jingled in the air like wind chimes made of seashells.

A flurry of feelings bubbles up in Harry's stomach. It makes his nerves tingle pleasurably, his toes curl and his palms suddenly sweaty. Adjusting his grip, Harry frowns unsure what to do with this development. Their staring contest ends when Malfoy’s eyes snap to something over Harry’s shoulders and in an instant, he rushes past Harry nearly knocking him off his broom.

Harry quickly pivots his broom and chases after Malfoy, seeing several feet in front of him the glint of light off the snitch. They bob and weave, ducking to miss one another, and obstacles at the snitch flit away from them. They race back and forth along the stretch of the pitch, bouncing around like pinballs. They were neck and neck; Malfoy would pull ahead for a few seconds till the snitch took a sudden right turn than Harry would be ahead. Over and over they volleyed leads but neither getting close enough to wrap their hands around the small golden ball.

Spiraling around the tallest goal pole, Harry feels his stomach curdle as the dizziness settles in. At the top of the goal, the snitch suddenly turned to head towards the Ravenclaw bleachers behind Harry’s back. Without slowing his pace, Harry flips himself, flying upside down for several feats before barrel-rolling till, he was upright again.

Malfoy is hot on his tail, banging their shoulders together trying to jostle Harry off his broom. He could feel the heat coming off the other both as they both pushed themselves and their brooms to go faster. The Snitch ascended upwards and the pair followed. Just as Harry was about the wrap his hands around it, the tricky ball instant plummeted back to the ground, slipping through both their hands. Malfoy quickly courses correctly to the left and Harry to the right dropping lower to the ground.

The snitch was hovering in the middle of the pitch just above the central line marker. Looking eyes with Malfoy Harry spread toward it, the two of them racing at breakneck speed towards one another in a twisted game of chicken. They were going to collide at any moment but the snitch didn’t move. They were either going to catch it, collide, or suddenly veer to miss one another and it seemed like neither was interested in the last option.

Lurching forward, Harry grasps the Snitch between his fingers just in time to throw his weight to the side avoiding a collision with the other man.

Landing none too gently on the ground, Harry rolls several feet before just laying on the ground, bruised, and heaving great gulps of air. His lung burned and felt amazing. Pushing his body to the limit was such a strong feeling and he craved it constantly. Staring up at the overcast sky and just reveled in the cool dirt bellow him and sweat on his brow.

Malfoy lands on his feet several paces away, looking upset, knuckles white on his broom handle.

“Good…. Game.” Harry gasped out, hoping to soften the burn the man must have felt losing to Harry again. Without responding, Malfoy turned on his heels, headed back to the castle. “Hey, Wait!” Harry yelled scrambling up to catch the man as they scale up the hill back to the castle. Harry still huffing all the way up.

Malfoy walked past the Great Hall doors not even wasting a moment to look into the bustling room full of students eating. Harry tried to stop him, “Its dinner time, let’s go eat.”

“No.”

Harry kept following really wanting to grab and pull Malfoy into the other room, “We should really eat, Malfoy?”

“Why do you even care Potter?”

He didn’t know. He couldn’t really say why he cares at all. All he could really say was that he did care and it was one of the strongest feelings he had in a while. They made it all the way to the 7th floor and Harry still had no answer. Malfoy even stopped for a beat to stare him down, probing for answers. Even so, Harry still couldn’t say a thing.

Fed up with waiting, Malfoy opened the Room of Requirements door, slipping inside. Harry silently follows him, just watching as with each step the tension in Malfoy’s back seems to evaporate. As they came up to the mirror, Harry noticed for the first time the multiple blankets and musty pillows laid out in front of it. Malfoy tossed his bag aside and settled down in the center of the nest, just inches from the mirror’s glass.

Harry watches him silently, unsure of what to do. Malfoy was here now and he was unsure if there was anything, he could do to pull him away.

With no idea what else to do, tossing his bag down, Harry sat down beside Malfoy at stares into the mirror as well. Staring at his feet Harry tried to steal his courage before looking at the magic mirror. Feeling ready, Harry looks up into the Mirror of Erised.

There was nothing there. Well, nothing that Harry would call an illusion. All he saw was himself and Malfoy’s reflections staring back at him. Was the mirror not working? He looked back at Malfoy to see if he looked just as confused. Whatever Malfoy was seeing, though, actually had a smile on his pale pink lips. He looks completely at peace.

Somewhere, small, in the back of Harry’s mind tells him that he wants that look protected. It's too good for this world and it needs someone to keep it safe.

“What do you see?” Harry had to ask. He couldn’t come this far and not feed his curiosity.

Malfoy didn’t say anything for the longest time, he just sat there rubbing his arms as if he was cold. He was quiet for so long Harry thought he actually hadn’t heard him. Harry began to shift, the stones underneath them becomes incredibly uncomfortable. It might be him for him to go. Just as he was about to stand, Malfoy turned to look at him.

“A better life.” He said completely devoid of feeling. His voice was so empty of emotions because they seemed trapped in his eyes, swirling around like a storm.

That’s when Harry realized what exactly he had seen on the quidditch pitch, Malfoy’s imperfections. His hair was wind-whipped and ruffled from repeatedly running his fingers through it, freeing it from the hair potions that usually kept it trapped. With the loose bangs hanging around his cheeks, Malfoys face lost its cold sharpness. He still had the structure that made him a handsome man but now it was tempered by the fact that he was human and imperfect. He seemed almost more real.

Harry’s chest tightened as he took in the way that the dusty light bounced around the man. He was sitting so still; the dust was starting to collect on him. For one sleeting moment, Harry was concerned that he like the other objects in this room would be there for the rest of the time.

Fishing in his pocket, Harry pulled out the small delicate charm. With a rough thumb, Harry rubbed it over the crystal pendant, watching as the flower shifted inside. Slowly, he held it out, towards Malfoy “Here, this is yours.”

Malfoy only managed to pull his eyes away from the mirror for a few seconds, but when he saw the pendant, he looks unsettled, “You’re giving it back?”

“Yeah…” He tried to hand it over but Malfoy refused to take it.

“But you won.”

Why did he have to make everything harder? “Look just take it Malfoy.”

“What do you want for it.”

Rolling his eyes Harry actually went to grab Malfoys hands, trying to force the pendant into it, “Who said I want anything.” Why couldn’t he just take the damn thing and stop being a Git?

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe that you are just giving it back to me.”

“Do you want it or not?” Harry demanded, getting a little fed up with Malfoy’s fussiness, “It seemed like it was important to you okay… Just… Just tell me what it is and I’ll give it to you.”

“My mum gave it to me.” He held it with such delicate fingers, almost as if it would shatter under too much heavy breathing. The little flower inside was rustling side to side, like the wind was thrashing around it. “It’s a Black family Heirloom. Suppose to keep me safe but I don’t know what else. It really hasn’t done anything but…” He liked it. It was soft, delicate, a gift from his mom and he liked it. That’s all that mattered.

Soon though, Malfoy’s attention was pulled back into the Mirror and it stayed there for hours. Harry stayed for hours as well, just being there watching Malfoy watch the mirror. The time stretched on and the tiredness, physical and emotional, truly set in.

“It’s getting late. “Harry announced, stretching his back, a few joints cracking pleasurably, “We should head to bed.” Standing up, he offered a hand to help Malfoy up as well.

“No.” Malfoy refused his offered hand, refused to even look at him, eyes still affixed to the mirror.

“Come on Malfoy,” Harry tried again, extending his hand once more clearly into Malfoy’s line of sight, “we have been here for hours.” Malfoy ignored him, simply shifting to his right so that Harry’s hand was no longer obstructing his view, “You need sleep.”

“I am fine!” He snapped suddenly vicious. All his softness was gone at once and all that was left was the cold cruel tone in his voice Harry was sadly so used to hearing. “Don’t try and mother me Potter.”

“… Okay, Good night.” Harry said head dropped low disappointed in himself just as much as with Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a long one darlings. Consider it a special gift to celebrate the wild day that was November 5th. It honestly gave me so much life and felt like the first time in a while that I felt truly happy for a few hours. It was positively euphoric and I hope you get the chance at that kind of feeling during the plague times.
> 
> I hope you enjoy and if so please leave a Kudo and comment. It really helps to let me know what you think and to keep the drive up with a long story like this.


	7. Living Stones at the Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While working on an assignment Harry stumbles over a mystery... again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Descriptions of a dead body are in this chapter.

Soon the summer started to slip into the fall, the air-cooled, leaves yellowed and the sunlight drew shorter. Halloween was only a week away and the souring nature seemed keen to get into the spirit of the holiday. It was a perfect day to be back in the tower, next to the fire, with a glass of fire whiskey in hand. Unfortunately for Harry, He was in Herbology, which meant he was knees deep in frigid lake water, and quickly losing feeling in his fingers.

At this point, Harry would have even been happy to be stuck in the humid greenhouse listening to lectures on proper watering techniques. Now though, probably brought on by the effects of war, Sprout had completely changed her teaching style. No longer were their hours spent in greenhouses tending to beautifully bloom poisons flowers. Now Students were expected to find their materials out in the real world.

Sprout had enlisted the help of the older students to replenish her storage, claiming that greenhouses were great but one rarely lives their entire life near one. She wanted them to learn to scavenge, to use their wits, and be able to identify their supplies out in the wild. Leading to Neville, Luna, and him spending twenty minutes of their free time skimming the lakefront, in search of Lithops- Living Stones.

Unfortunately, all of the Living Stones that could be found on the banks were plucked cleaning, meaning they had to get in the lake and search in the shallow shores. It is tedious, bodily work that left Harry’s mind with nothing to do but wander.

Every stray thought leads back to Malfoy. Any moment of undistracted thought kept going back to sitting next to Malfoy before the Mirror. What Hermione had said about the mirror was eating away at Harry. She made it seem so dangerous but when he saw the look on Malfoy’s face like it was the only true peace he had in years, Harry didn’t want to face the fact that he might have to take that away. He should tell McGonagall, even Hermione was starting to suggest it, but he didn’t know what would happen then. She might not hold this against Malfoy, but once the news was out it never went back into the bottle. As soon as people heard that Malfoy was back in the Room of Requirements there would surely be calls for his arrest.

It was one thinking to be practically haunted by the man during the day. Worse now, he couldn’t escape the man even when he did manage a few hours asleep. Now his dreams were all but invaded by the presence of Malfoy. Closing his eyes, he would be right back in the room, in front of the mirror, sitting in comfort next to Malfoy. He would just see his smiling face, the reserved imperfection, and probably the closest thing Harry had ever seen to unguarded joy.

Every time he woke up feeling hot, but not in a cold sweat like his nightmares normally brought on. This was far more comfortable in its warmth and would almost feel good. Harry would lazily come into wakefulness, basking in the comfort of honeyed dreams.

Even with the annoyance of Malfoy in his dreams, a fact he hoped to never have to admit out loud, Harry wished he was still in bed, instead, he was digging around the banks of the lake. “Any luck Harry?” Neville Longbottom asked, himself nearly up to his hips in the shallow wake, a streak of mud spread across his cheek.

“No, Nothing.” He stood up, whipping the sweat from his brow. As he stretched his stiff back, He could hear the birds screeching from the forest, their piercing caws had this odd natural chaos rhythm to them. They were wildly loud; their calls being heard even within the walls of the castle. “God, what is going on with the birds?”

“They are having a riveting conversation.” Luna smiled, nodding her head like she could hear what was being said and agreed with them. “They have been quite talkative this last week. I’ve even seen Professor Davies speaking excitedly to them on the edge of the forest. They must have some wonderful stories to tell,” Luna added, sounding like this was a perfectly normal statement. Which they were, at least for her.

Neville was not as convinced of its banality though, “What?” He gave the girl a queer look, fascinated with the concept.

“Can you even talk to birds?” Harry had to ask. It seemed like a wild idea but then again, he could talk to snakes so really anything was on the table.

“That explains all the birds he keeps in his office I guess.” Neville surmised, shrugging. Harry was more bothered by the thought of being near the forest. Too much had happened within it let Harry feel comfortable with anyone going inside it, even if they were just simple nonmagical birds. Maybe Hagrid had some idea on why the birds in the forest were suddenly so vocal.

With a dejected sigh, Neville tossed a rock into the lake’s murky waters, “It’s no luck, The Living Stones are picked clean.” Unfortunately, Harry had to agree, he wasn’t as good at Plant identification as Neville but he could tell when a spot had been scavenged. Dozens of hair-fine roots littered the ground from students ripping the plant out of the dirt with little care.

Luna, stood on the edge of the bank, staring off across the lake at the opposite shore, “There might be some on the eastern bank, it's usually shaded by the forest.” She pointed to the area in question, a little jettison of trees the cut into the lake, creating a cove on the opposite side leading straight into the heart of the forest. Its shoreline was just visible through the mid-morning mist coming off the lake.

“It will take us forever to get over there.” Harry traced the shoreline from where they stood to that point. It would probably be a few hours walk and have to take them through the forest “Class will be over before we are even halfway there.”

“Well, do we have to walk?” Neville asked, looking back at the quidditch pitch. It looked like a group of first years were in the middle of flying lessons but there were might a few brooms they could borrow.

“Let’s swim!” Luna suddenly stated, clapping her hands together in excitement.

Harry and Neville shared a look before Harry finally admitted “She’s right, we could just swim.” It would be way quicker and the slight danger of it captured Harry’s interest. Neville looked less than pleased at the prospect of swimming through the freezing lake waters.

“Luckily we won't need Gilly Weed this time.” Harry joked, pulling out his wand. With a quick series of flicks with his wand. Harry had enchanted his clothes to stay warm. He performed an air bubble spell, the same one Fluer had used in the Triwizard tournament, to make sure breathing wasn’t a problem.

Walking out into the lake, the water lapping at his chest, Harry came to a drop-off. With one last confident smile, he dived in headfirst. The air bubble quickly appeared around his head and he got a clear look into the lake. It was eerie as he remembered it from the Tri-Wizard tournament. It was like a murky film had developed over his vision making even his hands hard to see as he put them ahead to stroke.

Checking back, he Saw Neville helping Luna into the deepest part of the lake, both with a protective bubble around them as well. Together the Trio started to swim for the opposite shore. Harry clutched his wand in his hand, keen to stay alert to anything else alive in the water.

As they swam, he watched as underwater plants swayed in the current, lazily dancing. They were close enough to the surface that he could pop his head up every few feet and make sure the waves hadn’t knocked them off course. The light dappled through the waves, creating streaks through the water like stingless on church floors. It was almost beautiful in its own way but that didn’t mean the creatures within the waters were any less dangerous.

Soon, just as his muscles were starting to become sore from paddling, the shore started to come into view under the water. Pulling himself up and out of the water, Harry reapplied the warming charms and a drying spell to keep the chilly fall air from making him shiver. The bank was heavily shaded, the forest giving it that ominous darkness that made it feel like it was constantly night within the trees. The birds had grown even louder now. Their screaming song starting to have more of a beat to it. Harry assumed it was just the specific pattern of that bird, even though he couldn’t make out what type of bird call it was in the least. “Oh man, they only get louder.” Neville jammed a finger into his ear, trying to muffle the volume. Luna stood beside him, head tilted, just staring into the woods.

“Come on” Harry commanded, starting to walk along the shore, “let’s get this over with so we can head back.”

They split up, Harry heading in one direction while Neville and Luna went the other way, skimming the shore looking for Living Stones. The entire time they had an audience of birds talking all around them. Their combined sounds so loud they started to pound in Harry’s head. Mercifully within minutes, Neville called Harry over having found a patch of Living stones.

“Fantastic. We will have plenty.” Neville was beaming as he started to snip some plants at their base.

Luckily, this plant wasn’t a hard one to harvest. It needed no tricks like the mandrakes or spells like Devil’s snare. It wasn’t dangerous, but a valuable stabilizer in certain potions, which was why Professor Davies had requested Sprout help him collect more. They worked quickly but carefully, gentle to make sure they collected the ones for class and even a few more with every possible root still attached. Neville states he wanted to re-pot a couple of them for his own personal collection. They stored them away in waterproof bags for the unavoidable swim back.

That’s when something glimmering catches his eyes, a pale shock of light against the murky waters of the lake. A large shone was blocking Harry from getting a clear view without getting closer. Placing his bag of Living Stones, Harry walked towards the glimmer. It was hard to tell if it was alive, the waves against the shore made it sway back and forth. Rounding the sides of the largest stone Harry finally saw what was in the water. With a jolt, he pulled back, “Hey! Guys!”

He hears the sound of splashing behind him as Neville ran to Harry’s aid. As he came up behind Harry, he let out a shocked gasp “Is it…?”

A mermaid, dead, limp against the rocks stared back at them. Murky eyes were placid, staring up at the sky in a way that meant the creature wasn’t seeing anything. The ripples off the lake lapped at the limp body, tail floating to and fro as if the mermaid was alive. It wasn’t moving other than being pushed by the light tide waves.

“I don’t think I have ever seen a dead mermaid before.” Neville marveled, kneeling down to get a closer look close for a better look. The pale pallor of mermaids, normal iridescent like mirky water in the moonlight, was lusterless grey and sallow. Wide eyelid fewer pupils were dilated, nearly complete black, staring up with empty nothingness.

“You wouldn’t, they turn to seafoam when they die naturally, usually of old age. They live to about three hundred.” Luna informed them in that breathy way that made it sound like she was speaking through a trance, “Oh, poor thing.” Luna lamented with deep sorrow in her eyes. “So young.”

“Naturally? So, your saying something killed it.” Harry watched as Luna nodded, delicately brushing away stray bits of kelp off the body. “Whatever did this must have been vicious” Harry added, harrowing memories of desperately swimming to dodge carnivores sharp teethed merpeople. They hunted like a pack of bloodhounds, chasing him around the lake floor like a scared fox.

“And smart.” Luna concurred, “The dear is by themselves, whatever killed them knew how to peel them away from the pod.”

“Look at this.” Neville slowly rolled the body onto its side, along with the mermaid's back were three deep-set cuts, freshly made. The cuts were deep enough to expose the bone, but there was no blood around them, not pinking the water or dappling the shore. It was hard to tell what caused the cuts, they were definitely too smooth and organized for claws but the potential for magic or knives was up in the air. Whoever did it though had been prepared; this wasn’t some random predator looking for a quick snack.

As Harry and Neville, shifted the body back and forth, trying to get a better idea of what happened, Luna grabbed Neville’s shoulder. Her voice was tense, having lost of its breathy airs she was known for, “Neville… What happened to the birds?” A chill ran down Harry’s spine. The birds were silent. Gone or silenced, he couldn’t hear their obnoxious background singing that had been pulsing in his head. Straining his ears he couldn’t hear a thing. The Forest was instantly deadly silent.

Suddenly an ear-piercing screech came from the water, making Harry’s ears ring, as Neville was pulled to the ground. He screamed and clawed at the wet rocks, but their slick surface slipped through his fingers as he was pulled under. A flash of a silvery tail made waves as a mermaid pull Neville down deeper into the lake. Luna screamed his name as Harry instantly dived back into the frigid waters. The scratching of merpeople echoed around him as Harry swam in the direction, he last saw Neville pulled towards.

Debris and murky water obscured Harry’s vision as the cacophony of screeching sirens disoriented him. Was he swim in the right direction? Up towards the surface? Down to the lake bed? Everything looked the same and he was losing air fast. The burning in his lungs grew as he kept swimming. He just started to make out the bright red of Neville’s uniform when razor-sharp-clawed hands grabbed him by the arm. The claws dug in, making a smoky looking trace of blood leak from Harry’s opened wound.

With his wand, Harry tried to stun the creature off him but water filled his throat as he opened his mouth, making him choke. Another mermaid grabbed his other arm, locking his place. Holding him under as coughed and gasped for air. Bubbles formed around him as he gasped out the last bits of air, floating up and away from him.

Then, just as he was sure he would drown, an air bubble popped into existence around his head. Looking up Harry saw Luna, air bubble around her head, wand pointed at the creatures. He couldn’t hear as she said but suddenly a blast of stunning light hit the merperson on his right square in the chest. The creature let out a pitiful screech as its muscles locked up and it began to sink to the bottom of the lake, taking Harry with it.

The other creature let go of him, scared off by Luna casting more spells in their direction. Still seeing Neville in the distance, hard swam towards them. Blasting one mermaid in the chest with a stunner and grabbing Neville around the torso. His eyes were closed and his chest wasn’t moving. As fast as humanly possible Harry headed for the surface.

Just as he crashed through to air, he felt another hand grab his ankle. He let go of Neville just as he was pulled back down. “Luna, get Neville to the shore.” He screamed. The creature had him by the foot, a savage-looking trident in its other hand ready to spear him. He tried to hit it with stunning spells but every single one missed.

It raised its trident to pierce his chest when a sound caught its attention.

A horn blasted, water deep based sound that Harry felt more than heard. The mermaid, distracted, turned its attention away for just the briefest of seconds. Seeing his chance Harry stunned the creature and raced for the surface. Scratching was all around him as he managed to make it to the rocky edge and drag himself out of the water.

Harry gasped, feeling blessed fresh air fill his lungs. The wet stones of the shore cut into his back but they amazing compared to the limp feeling of nothing but water. His head lulled to one side he was staringly blankly into the darkness of the forest. Something was moving. Squinting his eyes, he saw an animal with four legs standing just outside of the deepest shadows. It looked to be a massive black dog. Harry’s mind swirled with dark memories. Rubbing at his eyes, when he looked again it was gone. He tried to shake the odd feeling building in him, focusing instead on his friends.

Luna was over Neville; His lips were blue and skin pale. She was frantically waving her wand, trying to magically pull the water out of his lungs. Long disgusting steam of murky water came from his mouth and with a sudden gasp, Neville was breathing again.

Luna pulled Neville’s head into her lap, petting the hair out of his eyes. “Are you okay?” Between gasped breathes he said yes and gave her his thanks. His lips had turned blue and a shiver racked his body. Quickly Luna pulled out her wand, reciting several warming charms over his wet torso.

“What is the meaning of this?” A raspy voice with surprising force questioned. Professor Mot was marching towards them, the brass of his walking stick clacking against the rocks. It was eerie to see him walking so easily, His milky eyes were staring straight out, blindly, but he never once seemed to stumble. Almost as if he could see perfectly well. He gripped the handle of the cane in a vice, the bones of his knuckles sticking out. With a grave expression on his face, he waited for one of them to answer his question.

“We were looking for Living Stones for Herbology, Professor,” Harry admitted, slowly standing up, his muscles burning from overuse.

“Then explain that.” He pointed in the vague direction of the Mermaid body, still tucked away in the inlet, as peaceful as they had found it.

“We are not sure, sir. We found them like this.” Neville admitted, head still in Luna’s lap, his voice was wrecked, raspy and waterlogged. The color in his lips slowly starting to turn back to pink as her warming charms did their job. Mot tilted his head, eyes looking in Neville’s general direction.

“You’re lucky they didn’t kill you.” He retorted, looking annoyed about that fact. “… Lucky in a lot of ways.”

“We are sorry Professor.” Luna apologized. He hummed, not really accepting the apology.

“Don’t be sorry. That doesn’t mean anything.” He said, sounding like he was in the middle of a classroom giving a lecture. “Be careful. With how much trouble you lot get into it’s almost as if you want to die. Do you?” Instantly his eyes were on Harry and for a moment Harry could have sworn the man was actually looking at him.

“No, sir.”

“Quite right. Miserable experience.” He meant to mumbled mostly to himself but Harry caught it nonetheless. Pulling out his want, Mot recited an interacted spell and transfigured a nearby fallen tree into a small boat. “Now get in the boat and get back to the castle. Classes are about to change over.”

Silently they boarded the craft. As Luna set down, the boat lurched into movement, pulling away from the shore and heading back towards the castle. Harry felt nostalgic for half a moment, remembering his first experience seeing the castle, settled in a self-driving boat just like this one. He missed the air of wonder he felt seeing the twinkling lights over the lake.

“I wonder how he found us?” Luna finally asked, breaking the silence among them.

“What I want to know is why was doing the Forbidden Forest?” Harry watched, as their boat pulled further and further away from the shore. Professor Mot, becoming smaller and hazier in the distance, was bent over, doing something to the body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated holiday everyone. I hope you all stayed safe, warm, healthy, and well-fed. As this year closes it's starting to dawn on me just how much has happened in a year that feels like it's been in a complete standstill. I know a lot of people, myself included, look to fandom and fanfiction to help distract and filter through our complicated emotions. I hope my stories can help you. Whether it is with giving you a story to lose yourself in or just a couple of minutes of light distraction. Please everyone be safe, be kind to yourself and others, and please take care.


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